


Tumblr Ficlets and Prompts

by Interrobang



Series: Tumblr Prompts [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Office, Breeding, Character Study, Consensual Somnophilia, Dick Pics, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magnet play, McCree is secretly afraid of horses??, Mermaids, Nipple Piercings, Noodle Dragons, Oral Sex, Oviposition, Siren Lucio, Somnophilia, Teacher-Student Relationship, Teasing, Werewolves, soft McHanzos, wireplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 18:37:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 45
Words: 32,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8928541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobang/pseuds/Interrobang
Summary: A collection of prompt fills and character studies from my tumblr (hhgggx). Mostly McHanzo, but occasionally other pairings or gen thrown in. Story contents in Chapter title/summaries.





	1. McHanzo: Hanzo with nipple piercings NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M. Hanzo gets nipple piercings and taunts McCree with them while they heal.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks, and somehow the pain was just as bad as the first day. Hanzo was no closer to letting anyone near him– not that he’d normally let just anyone touch his nipples. Mercy was one thing: she had clean and steady hands and was quick to offer maintenance advice when needed. Lúcio was another. He’d done the actual piercing and had given Hanzo opinions about jewelry types and cleaning supplies while he was still dizzy from the experience of a thick piercing needle punching through his sensitive nipples. Hanzo had dazedly agreed with him about captive bead rings and then wandered off, pecs burning. His fingers had twitched, eager to play with the new bits of metal in his skin.

He’d held off until his shower a scant few hours later. His chest ached. He’d carefully, delicately played with the long barbells though each side: in one hole, out the other. He slid them back and forth, savoring the pinch of a fresh wound. It was nothing like a stabbing, nothing like the drag of a bullet. It sat in the wounded, hypersensitive skin of his nipple like a prize and shone in the morning sunlight when he woke up the next day.

Lúcio had said it would take months before he could really use them or enjoy them with a partner. It had taken Hanzo all of three hours to figure out that he could come with just one finger flicking carefully at the bar pushed through his dusky pink nipple.

But back to business. It had been two weeks, and McCree was due back any minute. Hanzo tugged on his gi, pulling the cloth all the way up over his shoulders. They weren’t in battle now. There was no need for him to expose his breast to the open air, and the surprise would be worth it.

He headed to the hangar to wait.

–

McCree and the rest of the team arrived not too much longer, right on schedule. The cowboy had looked tired beyond belief and ragged when they’d touched down. He looked more intent on a shower with soap than a shower of kisses, and Hanzo had obliged. He was eager, but not so eager so as to ruin the element of surprise.

In fact, in a supreme display of self-control, Hanzo made it two _entire_ days without showing off-– no shared showers, no shirtless runs. It wasn’t until he was in the gym lifting weights with McCree at his side that anything changed.

“You alright, darlin’?” McCree finished a rep and set down his weight, staring at Hanzo.

“Yes, of course.” Hanzo set down the crossbar of the weights he was lifting. “Is something wrong?”

McCree looked him over. “I don’t rightly know. You seem different. Did something happen while I was gone?”

Hanzo looked around at the empty gym. It was just the two of them in here and they weren’t likely to be intruded upon any time soon. A peek couldn’t hurt.

He glanced around conspiratorially before lifting up the corner of his t-shirt. One gleaming metal bit shone in the fluorescent lights of the gym. McCree’s gasp was audible.

“Yes,” Hanzo said slyly. “Something happened.” Then he turned back around to the wide crossbar and the heavy weights it supported, intent on his exercise. McCree’s ragged breaths behind him were of no consequence.

He managed to make it two reps before hot hands slunk around his ribs and settled, cupping his chest over his t-shirt. Hanzo could feel McCree straddling the insufficiently-padded bench behind him, the long heat of his body settling against Hanzo’s back. Hanzo grinned, drumming his fingers along the crossbar, which he’d dedicatedly set back in its holder.

“Can I help you?” He said primly.

McCree rubbed his beard along the back of Hanzo’s neck and massaged his chest.

“When did this happen, Han?”

“Not that long ago. It was nothing, really.” He didn’t mention the flinch when the needle punched through or the subsequent two days of throbbing he’d dealt with. He didn’t mention the chafing bedsheets or the brief second of agony when he’d had to deal with a stray hair tangled in the barbell. Instead, he puffed his chest out and leaned his head back on McCree’s shoulder. He turned his head and whispered in McCree’s ear. “Worth it for the sheer torture of arousal, really.”

McCree seemed instantly invested. Perhaps overly so. Did Hanzo need to correct that?

McCree’s fingers wandered, almost brushing the delicate holes in hanzo’s nipples. Hanzo swatted them away.

“No,” he admonished. “You are not permitted to touch.”

“Oh?” McCree breathed heavily along Hanzo’s neck. His hands massaged at Hanzo’s muscles, but dutifully stayed away from the stiff points of Hanzo’s nipples.

“Absolutely not. They need to heal properly.”

McCree gripped the meager swell of fat on Hanzo’s chest and pushed it together. Hanzo huffed a gentle laugh. The cowboy always was obsessed with cleavage. “You’re sure? And how long will that be, Han?”

“Oh, just up to a year,” Hanzo said casually.

McCree groaned bodily. “You’re _killlin’_ me, Hanzo. That’s not _fair_.”

Hanzo wriggled out of McCree’s grip and turned around on the bench. He scooted closer to McCree, into the heat of his arms. Hanzo ran his blunt nails down McCree’s cloth-covered chest, coming to rest on the swell of his groin. Clearly something had distracted McCree.

“Maybe if you prove you can be careful with them I’ll let you help keep them clean,” Hanzo purred. “There are a lot of details to take care of. I might need…assistance.”

McCree perked up, pushed into Hanzo’s hand.

“I could do that. I’m awful good at helping.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He squeezed teasingly, flicking the eager head of McCree’s cock through his workout shorts.

Then he turned away, back to his weights and his clinging, sweaty workout clothes.

“But I think I’d like to finish my exercise first.”


	2. McCree: Deadeye Wandering SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen, unrated. A short study about how McCree experiences Deadeye.

There were days that Deadeye drained him like the blinding sun over the desert; hell, some days he’d have taken the baking heat over the pain in his face.

The closest thing he could compare it to was a migraine, but that would be too easy. His head felt split, like a rusty ax had wedged itself solidly in the small bones of his ear and jaw. A dull blade sat thick and heavy in his eye socket, leaving him to bleed out.

When the throbbing started, the nausea rose. When the vomit sat thick in his throat, he would sway in place, tense in his frame like his fragile, sloppy skin was the only thing holding him together. The minuscule breaks of his skin, the dark hairs on his arms, the moles on his back: they all amounted to pinpricks of vulnerability. When Deadeye made itself known, he felt like every cell of his body was open and porous, letting all the vile sludge seep in.

It left him with a dull ache behind one eye and the vague feeling that half his face was melting, sagging like the disastrous remains of a stroke, dead muscles sloughing off bone and leaving only the eerie gleam of death in his skull.

He’d take a stance: a man at high noon, with the sun blazing bright overhead and dust in the air. A quickdraw, a full chamber, a steel-toed boot set determinedly in the dirt. Every line of him tense, every breath quick, harsh, huffed and panted over a dry tongue.

There was devilry in his hands, then: quicker than sin, redder than blood. The hand of justice coming down blind to crush everything in sight.

When Deadeye made itself known, McCree would fall back from himself. His consciousness would settle in the creaking knuckles of his shooting arm, held steady and confident. His awareness would settle in the delicate cones of one eye, red and sensitive and scalpel-sharp.

And when he fired he’d melt, and sag, and fall to molten lead in his shoes, like thick mud in the deep ruts of wagon tracks. He’d sway and wait for the ringing in his ears to subside, then move on past the carnage to where he needed to be.

There were days that Deadeye drained him and left him a withered, rotten husk–- old fruit in the sun, leathery and hard and dry and broken. Sour like skunk beer, frayed like wind-worn cloth.

Dead and blind but for hindsight.


	3. Genyatta: light dom/sub, body worship, mostly SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated T. Genyatta with light Dom/sub undertones.

“Oh, Genji,” Zenyatta croons, “how _wonderful.”_

Genji is splayed out on the floor before him, plating removed to the best of his ability, face a picture of bliss. His synthetic and organic flesh is exposed to the world, and he feels with all his might like a hermit crab without its shell, strange and soft. He knows that the weave of his muscles will be straining, fibers and sinew aching even now.

“Do you remember when you first came to me? You were full of such _anger_.” Zenyatta’s hands are firm but gentle, running along Genji’s metal spine. His fingers click over each metal knob, each nerve and connection. Genji sighs and shudders as newly sensitive points are touched reverently, soft and wondering until they reach his neck.

He is vulnerable, in this place. His throat was a mess when he came to Overwatch, his neck in shambles. If he had been forced to keep more organic flesh, it is not likely that he would still have control of his body, crushed as he was. His new body is strong and durable and some days his new nerve endings seem to hint that it never happened. There are days that Genji hates this new form, as if what is left of his body is trying to forget the sorrow and destruction it faced. As if it can move on when Genji himself cannot.

But here…

When Zenyatta’s hand sits quietly on his neck, at his nape, Genji goes still. A trained calmness overtakes him, glazes over his fears and puts a balm over his brain. There is a brief wave of panic– fear of vulnerability– but a firm squeeze sets him right again.

“I remember when you would lash out,” Zenyatta’s says. “So much fear, so much anguish, and all expressing itself in violence and frustration.” The soft silicon casing in his fingers rubs and squeezes at Genji’s neck, grounding him. And slowly, Zenyatta’s other hand joins it’s brother on his back, at the dip of his spine.

“And yet, now…” Zenyatta trails off for a moment as he suddenly digs his hand into Genji’s back, fingers wide and hard against the material of Genji’s trembling exposed skin. Genji would writhe happily if he could, but instead he only sinks deeper into the tranquil dark behind his eyelids, a place where he can be quiet in mind and body. “And yet now you have learned to surrender yourself.”

There’s a brief, crackly sigh, and then Zenyatta’s voice dips low and sensual.

“And all for me. How _wonderful_.”


	4. McHanzo: teacher!Hanzo, student!McCree NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M. Jesse stays after class for a makeup exam with Professor Shimada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters are of age. This technically counts as a college AU.
> 
> This was heavily inspired by francisxie's pic of teacher!Hanzo. ∠( ᐛ 」∠)＿http://francisxie.tumblr.com/post/156113991184/teacher111111hanzo111

Professor Shimada was some kind of miracle. He made theoretical statistics interesting, always had a good joke to follow up a particularly tough section, and, well…

He was hot as hell.

Jesse had been popping a boner basically every class since he’d started. He’d taken to sitting in the front row just so he wouldn’t poke anyone’s eye out on his way out the door. It wasn’t fair. The man had a gorgeous, thick head of hair with just a bit of silvering at the temples, and his eyes were intense, his smile knowing.

He’d come running in from a rainstorm one night, shirt soaked, giving the whole class an eyeful of his ridiculous shoulder-to-waist ratio and a giant tattoo Jesse had wanted to get his tongue on. The cruel monster had kept teaching anyway, easily making for the most enrapturing lecture about sample methods Jesse had ever attended.

Jesse was now supposed to be working on a makeup exam. He was the only one there, and he’d settled at the back of the large room, far away from where Shimada was grading papers at his desk.

Jesse should have been working, but he was distracted.

As soon as the class had let out, the professor had dropped off his jacket, put his glasses on, and popped a couple buttons of his shirt open, sighing as he pulled out a pen. Jesse had flushed and stammered as he navigated his way clumsily through all the desks in an attempt to keep his hard dick as far away from the man as possible.

Now he sat with his paper, staring at blank pages of theorems and problems to solve, his mind racing. The fingers of one hand were ever so surreptitiously in his lap, gently rubbing himself while his brain warred with the idea of trying to jerk off in the middle of the classroom versus actually getting his very important test done.

He glanced up. Shimada tucked a stray lock of silver hair behind his ear and boredly tucked his chin in one broad palm.

Jesse gripped a little tighter.

His dick was hard in his pants, trapped against the inseam of one leg. His pen shook in one hand as the other rubbed hard against the head. If he was gonna do this, it would have to be quick. He could pull his coat around himself and get the hell out when this was over. Maybe go home and have a shame shower. Maybe relive it a little during that shower, who knows?

He casually stroked along the length while he struggled to plot out a graph, hand movements jerky. He cursed. One line was crooked, and he shifted in his seat as he used both hands to steady his paper while he redrew it. The shift managed to get him some friction on his cock, and he sucked in a sharp intake of breath. He moved again and had to bite his lip to hold back the moan he wanted to let out. He spared a glance down to his lap and was mortified to see a small wet spot forming right at the tip.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d had half a chub since before Professor Shimada had even handed him his exam; the fact that it had taken him  this long to get this worked up was a new record for this class.

He put his hand on his lap, shifting like he was trying to get comfortable. His chair squeaked. The desk scraped minutely on the floor and screeched, and Jesse’s hand flew away like he’d been burned. Professor Shimada hardly glanced up.

Jesse’s face burned as he rushed his way through another page of questions, fingers casually running along his length as he worked. The heat in his gut was distracting, his breath a little huffy as he hunched over his paper, thumb idly pressing into his balls while he tried to subtly rub up against himself. The silence in the room was oppressive, broken only by the occasional sigh from the front of the room.

He was panting by the time he was on the last page, pants wet under his fingers as he pressed his nails in meanly just for some kind of sharp touch, some kind of pressure. He was about to come when Professor Shimada’s voice broke through the empty room and straight into Jesse’s pants:

“If you’re quite finished, you can come up here for your final evaluation.” He smirked. “Leave the test behind.”


	5. McHanzo: soft McHanzos SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated T.
> 
> Just...Soft McHanzos. I saw these two posts by Coefore and like...I had to. _I had to._
> 
> http://coefore.tumblr.com/post/152148554831  
> http://coefore.tumblr.com/post/156181580371

They were both a little shy from the late hour; they’d retreated to Hanzo’s quarters hours ago, having tired of hard wooden chairs in the general hall, and ended up reclined on the bed with a wall to their backs and a holoscreen playing something quietly in the background as they talked. And then, warm and sleepy, they’d leaned closer, side to pressing side, warm cheek to firm shoulder. Hanzo had looked up and seen McCree’s face in the dim light and been startled at the gentleness in his jaw, the curve of his heavy eyelashes as he looked right back.

There’d been a pause, and then a soft kiss, and Hanzo had suddenly been hungry for it, yearned down to his marrow to be closer than his skin would allow him. But he’d been slow from exhaustion and clumsy, his fingers snagging on the buttons on McCree’s outer shirt when he tried to get a grip.

There’d been no quick descent into sensuality; the quietly smoldering heat of it had been there all evening, hidden in the brush of a knee here or a playful nudge there. It had settled into the stiflingly hot, miniscule space between their sides as they’d sat on the bed in companionable silence– until they could no longer be silent.

Hanzo’s heart had thudded heavily against his throat as he’d huffed and pushed lazily at McCree’s clothing, and now he had him splayed out before him.

McCree looked soft like this, kiss-warmed and pliant in Hanzo’s arms. His shirt was rucked up into his armpits, and Hanzo wanted for all the world to run his fingers over every tiny bump and scar he could see; he wanted to drag his nails against the grain of his chest hair, follow it up to his neck, his jaw, pull him close again and kiss the cowboy until he couldn’t breathe.

McCree had meat on his body, but like this, he was vulnerable. His face was pink beneath the scruff, his mouth red and open as he panted just a little, air heavy in his chest. He looked up almost poutily when Hanzo pulled away, a hair’s distance between his parted lips and he looked dazedly up at Hanzo’s face.

Hanzo was sure he couldn’t be much better; his shyness was getting the best of him now, and he backed off, averting his eyes. He didn’t have the presence of mind to play coy, but he flushed under McCree’s stunned gaze as he undid his shirt and let it drape over the swell of his muscled forearms before dropping it.

McCree reached out, almost tentative, and slid his hand around Hanzo’s chest. His broad palm cupped Hanzo’s ribcage, metal fingers digging into the ridges of his bones and muscles. He pulled Hanzo down, down, down, until they lay side by side, legs tangled and chests pressed together. Hanzo rested his face on McCree’s shoulder and slid one hand up under the remaining folds of his shirt, unable to gather the energy to pull it off him all the way.

There was no rush, no pressing need to consummate the feelings that had been building for the last however many months. Just the simple warmth of skin on skin, a flush on each face and a promise of something new in every morning to follow.


	6. Genyatta: sense-sharing, mostly SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated M: Genji tries to share his sensory input with Zenyatta to demonstrate more human sensations.
> 
> Not 100% on what to rate this one, honestly.

****

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Nothing in this life is certain, master, but it is all worth attempting, is it not? Besides, if our taste test was any reference, it should at least be interesting.”

“I fail to see how this and chocolate are the same.”

Genji smiled as he hooked up the last line connecting his sensory nodes to Zenyatta’s ports.

“They are both pleasurable experiences. Is that a good enough reason?”

Zenyatta hummed docilely, seated patiently as he waited for Genji to finish connecting them. They had, for better ease, agreed that he should be grounded for this. Genji had warned him that it may be overwhelming and he wouldn’t want to cause an injury.

“If you are ready?”

“Ha!” Genji chuckled. “As ever… Are you?”

“I am curious as to what the “big deal” is, as you often say.”

Genji started slowly run his hands along his body. His armor was off as much as he could remove it, and his synthetic skin was revealed to the warm light of his room. Lines of wires and sonic nodes connected him and Zenyatta, though they remained a respectable distance apart on Genji’s bed.

First he only ran his hands along his arms, running his fingertips over raised scar tissue and synthetic musculature.

“Ah, how curious,” Zenyatta said lightly. “Very interesting.”

Next Genji moved up to his head, pushing and pulling at the skin and bone and cartilage and metal that made up his face. He pressed his palm to his cheeks, feeling the heat there and knowing that Zenyatta could feel it too.

Zenyatta remained quiet, though his orbs began to glow dimly around his neck. His body language remained as unreadable as ever.

Genji ran a hand through his hair, scratched at his scalp, and yawned, which made Zenyatta laugh.

“Strange. Very strange,” Zenyatta murmured. “You are tired, but resisting rest.”

“That’s humanity for you,” Genji laughed. “Very strange.”

As his laughter tapered off, Genji ran his fingers over his collarbones, the crease of his armpit, the swell of his biceps. The synthetic skin rasped under his nails, the metal tinkling when he clicked it against the hard casing of his fingers.

At Zenyatta’s silence, he moved to more risky territory, running a hand over his chest, pausing to push and pull and rub at a nipple. He flushed a little under the inspection of Zenyatta’s calm facade, and heard a corresponding, questioning little noise.

Leaving his chest well alone, he slid his hand along his stomach. He paused to pinch at his own hip bones, the soft angles of his stomach. Zenyatta laughed deeply when Genji poked at his own bellybutton, declaring it a “singularly human experience.”

When Genji reached his hips, though, Zenyatta went silent, his orbs glowing gently and bobbing around his neck. Genji knelt, running a hand over the sides and tops of his thighs, his lower back– then slowly slipped down to knead at his own ass. His face was hot and red now, and as he squeezed at himself he bit his lip, knowing that Zenyatta was feeling everything he was doing as if it was being done to him.

Zenyatta was deadly quiet now, the only sound a cooling fan running in the depths of his chest. It whirred away as Zenyatta’s processors tried to figure out how to interpret the input they were receiving.

Genji bit back a moan as he played with his ass, sliding one hand down to cradle the back of his thighs, teasing along his taint. The action caused him to lean forward, putting him that much closer to Zenyatta’s seated form. The orbs were rotating now, slowly bobbing and waving in the air, and one softly caressed Genji’s cheek as he moved towards Zenyatta.

“Is it–- can I-–?” Genji trembled, fingers pressing desperately into his synthetic skin.

“Of course,” Zenyatta said. The sound was a little crackly on the edges, static making the sounds fuzzy on the peripherals. “Do not let me stop you from enjoying yourself.”

“It’s not just for me,” Genji insisted as he slipped a hand around front to unlock another plate off his outer shell. “This is for you, too. A guide. An exploration. We are always learning, are we not?”

“Yes,” Zenyatta sighed as Genji began to reach between his legs, “and what a learning experience this is.”


	7. McHanzo: wolf/dragon courtship via gifts SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt on tumblr: _Wolf McCree and Dragon Hanzo courting each other but it becomes like a contest to see who is the better hunter for the prompts?_

It started with a bag of chips. Jesse had just finished one of his rare runs into town for the more human necessities: toilet paper, dairy products, painkillers. He had a rustling bag of chips in his arms (the good kind, kettle-cooked with salt and cracked pepper in abundance) when he stumbled into the dragon’s den.

They’d been neighbors for ages, but this was the first time Jesse had found his neighbor’s home. The dragon kept it well-hidden, the clearing in front of his cave camouflaged with vines and bushes.

Jesse figured he’d be neighborly and pop his head in.

“Anybody home?” He whistled long and low, listening with perked ears as the sound echoed down the dark chamber.

Eventually he heard the crack of rocks upon each other, and Hanzo, the resident dragon, popped his head out from around the curve of the tunnel. 

“May I help you?”

“Thought you might be home. Just got back from the store. You want anything? I got, uh…” He looked through his bags. “Chocolate? Can you eat that? I think I got some hot dogs here somewhere…” 

“Are those chips?” Hanzo licked his lips, his forked tongue darting out over sharp canines. “I haven’t had chips in ages.”

Jesse beamed. “They’re all yours, darlin’.” He tossed them over. “Let me know if you need anything else. I know all that–” he gestured to the scales and antlers “can be pretty hard to hide. I can get my paws on the good stuff every now and then.”

Hanzo nodded, then retreated into his cave, chips clutched close. Jesse let him be.

–

After the chips came a rabbit. Jesse was sitting by the fire in his cozy, rustic cabin when he heard a knock on the door. When he opened it, he was surprised to see Hanzo standing in front of him looking nervous. Without a word, Hanzo lifted up a rabbit by the ears. It hung freshly-killed in his hands.

“I thought I might repay you for your gift the other night.”

“Aw, sweetheart, that’s might kind of you. Come on in.” Jesse stood back and beckoned for the dragon to step over the threshold. “Got a fire going already and everything. Looks like we’re having a roast tonight!”

Hanzo looked around his cabin while Jesse went about skinning and dressing the rabbit. They chatted about nothing in particular, Jesse laughing when Hanzo tested how soft the blanket thrown over his chair’s back was or looked at the spines of the books on his shelves. 

They settled by the fire– Jesse on a rug by the hearth, Hanzo sitting awkwardly in the one armchair– and waited for the rabbit to cook.

“You get much occasion for company in that cave of yours?”

Hanzo shook his head. “Not usually. It’s very hard for people to find me if I don’t want them to.” 

“Well dang, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, it’s fine. I got a delicacy out of it, after all.” Hanzo smiled, his eyes luminous in the firelight.

Jesse laughed. “If you call chips a delicacy, you’re welcome to ‘em any time.”

Dinner was tender and savory and better still for the company.

–

The next exchange was nearly an accident. Jesse was wandering about the woods doing his usual foraging (mushrooms, roots, berries) when he heard grumbling and  thrashing nearby. When he cautiously investigated, he saw a distinctly human man cutting through the foliage disguising Hanzo’s cave.

Jesse did what any good neighbor would do: he knocked the dude out and hauled him to the edge of the woods. When the guy woke up halfway through and struggled in Jesse’s paws, he got an eyeful of Jesse’s numerous teeth and plenty of threats not to ever hunt a dragon again.

“He’s got all sorts of guard dogs,” Jesse chuckled darkly. “I’m practically a pup compared to some of ‘em.” Then he snarled, sending the man scrambling. He shouted after him, waving one furry arm as if in farewell. “Don’t come back now, y’hear?”

When he was sure the man wouldn’t come back, Jesse loped back to Hanzo’s cave, where he had to wait around for Hanzo to return. It was a good thing he hadn’t been home, or the hunter would have been more likely to never return to his _own_ home.

“I do not tolerate trespassers,” Hanzo said haughtily. “He would have been dealt with.”

“My way has less blood, honey. And if word gets out that you’ve got a handsome wolf like me hanging around it might stop some of the more determined folks.”

“We’ll see,” Hanzo said slyly. “Though if a certain handsome wolf hangs around too much they might get ideas.”

Jesse laughed and slung an arm around Hanzo’s shoulder, nuzzling into the side of Hanzo’s head by his antlers. “Let ‘em.”

–

Next time Hanzo came over (for he’d taken to visiting every couple days) he brought a basket of produce with him.

Jesse dug through the basket with gusto. “Hanzo, these are gorgeous. Did you risk a trip into town for lil ol’ me?”

“No,” Hanzo said with a smile. “They are from my garden.”

Jesse raised his eyebrows. “You have a garden?”

“I have a _couple_ gardens. I have to keep myself fed somehow, yes?”

“I dunno, I figured you just lived on fish and meat.” He snickered. “And chips.”

Hanzo shrugged. “When I feel like it. But squash are nice too. Try the peas; they are particularly sweet this year.”

Jesse snapped one between his teeth and considered something.

“How self-sufficient _are_ you, anyhow?”

“I am fairly independent. Though I have no electricity in my cave, I make do with what I can craft. That happens to be an awful lot.”

“Got a shower in that cave of yours?”

Hanzo shook his head. “I mostly bathe in the rivers in summer and fire-heated water in cool weather.”

“Now _that’s_ a damn shame. You ever want a hot bath, you gimme a holler. No sense in denying a man a little luxury every now and then.”

Hanzo laughed appreciatively. Jesse smiled; Hanzo’s laughter was becoming increasingly common in his little cabin. It filled the space with warmth fuller than what the fire could produce. 

“Say, I bet these sweet potatoes would be mighty nice baked in the coals overnight. Why don’t you stay over and we can have them for breakfast?”

“I’d be delighted.”

\--

The gift exchange kept going. Jesse tried his hardest to keep up. There were dinners and swims, knit items and furs and moonlit romps through the woods.

Jesse did his best to keep Hanzo in the more modern comforts, and Hanzo, for his part, did his best to keep Jesse in good company.

They kept on like this for many months. Over time, Hanzo stayed longer and longer in Jesse’s cabin, forgoing his cave entirely when winter hit. 

“You should plant berries this spring,” Jesse said with a yawn. “I can show you how to make jam.” Hanzo was nestled into his side. Jesse had kept the armchair, but added another piece of furniture: a couch Hanzo had scrounged up for him from god-knows-where. It was lumpy and uneven, but comfortable enough when the two of them were wrapped up in each other with a fire blazing nearby.

“Perhaps. I was hoping to tackle pumpkins this year.” Hanzo hummed contentedly and rested his head on Jesse’s chest. “We can make pie, since you are so partial to sweet things.”

Jesse smacked a kiss on his head, right between the antlers. “Sure am, you sweet thing, you.”

Hanzo chuckled, slapping Jesse’s arm playfully. “Quiet, you flatterer.”

“Ain’t flattery if it’s true.”

They rested quietly in front of the hearth for a long while. The quiet was finally broken by Jesse shuffling a hand into his pockets, drawing something out and hiding it in one large paw.

“Got something for you, sweetpea.”

Hanzo held one clawed hand out expectantly. He made a face of surprise when Jesse opened his hand to reveal a gleaming, shiny key.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re here most of the time anyhow. Doesn’t make sense for you to get locked out of what’s basically your own home.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

Jesse smiled softly. “You can start with ‘thank you’ and finish with ‘and yes, Jesse, I _will_ plant those blackberries you like so much.’”

Hanzo smiled giddily, turning the key over in his fingers as he lay back down on the couch. “We’ll see, my wolf. We’ll see.”

\-- 

It ended with chips. 

Jesse was lounging on the couch with a book when Hanzo walked in. He had a hood up over his horns and a long coat hiding his scaled arms. He held large bags of groceries in each hand. Jesse closed his book and sat up.

“How’d it go?”

Hanzo frowned. “Human currency is arbitrary and confusing. But I got marshmallows, so it was worth it.”

“You’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

“And one more thing.” Hanzo smiled as he dug through the grocery bags. “A delicacy. They were on sale.”

He tossed the package to Jesse: 

“Chips?” Jesse laughed. “You know me so well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got a little off-topic and out of hand, but fun nonetheless. c:


	8. McHanzo: more teacher!Hanzo NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more teacher!Hanzo and student!McCree. Light exhibitionism-- taking pics while having sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, McCree is in college here and everyone is of age. I'd say he's like 20?
> 
> francisxie is amazing??? i die every time they post more teacher Hanzo.
> 
> this was specifically inspired by these two posts:  
> http://francisxie.tumblr.com/post/156278523684/5am-im-goin-back-to-sleep  
> http://francisxie.tumblr.com/post/158152276164

“Mister McCree, please put your phone away and see me after class.” The room was dark. Jesse thought he’d be able to snap a shot of Professor Shimada while he was in the middle of showing slides to the class.

Jesse, bright red, shoved his phone in his bag and sunk down in his seat while other students tittered. He’d just wanted to text Angela about his growing problem-- namely his casual involvement with his hot professor-- but apparently he hadn’t been subtle enough.

When the rest of the students had cleared out and the hall outside was deafeningly quiet, Jesse walked haltingly up to the front of the room. Professor Shimada was sitting at his desk, laptop open in front of him as he worked silently.

“Profess-- uh, Hanzo?” Hoping he’d finally been given permission to call the teacher by his given name, Jesse shifted from foot to foot in front of the professor’s desk. Despite the nervousness, a rush of excitement still ran through him at being alone with the man he’d occasionally banged. “Sorry about, uh--”

“Give me your phone.” Hanzo was still working, fingers tapping away at his keyboard as images flashed across his screen, reflected in the lenses of his glasses. He held out his hand expectantly.

Jesse fumbled with his phone, handing it over. Then he watched in horror as Hanzo flicked open the camera app and started flipping through his photos. 

“No, don’t--”

There were at least a dozen incriminating photos on there: Hanzo in class, Hanzo sipping out of a mug on his break, Hanzo yawning. 

Hanzo’s bare ass as he left Jesse’s bed in his off-campus apartment.

Hanzo smirked. Flipped to the next one. And the next. Worse than the ones of Hanzo were the ones of  _ Jesse.  _ Jesse had taken a number of tasteful-- and not-so-tasteful-- nudes of himself. He hadn’t worked up the nerve to send them, but there they were, in all their digital glory, for Hanzo to look at nonetheless. 

“Is there anything in particular I should look for? You don’t have any objections to  _ sharing  _ these, do you?”

Jesse’s breath was short, his vision down to a pinhole focused on his screen: a closeup shot of his abs covered in cum and his own softening dick. He’d felt particularly daring when he’d taken it and never gotten around to deleting it.

“After all, it wouldn’t do for me not to have pictures of my star student.” Hanzo stood and herded Jesse around to behind his desk. “How else would I share your work?”

Hanzo’s smirk grew, and Jesse watched in horror as Hanzo opened the messenger app and sent himself a number of the photos.

“I mean-- uh--” Jesse bit his lip. The idea of Hanzo looking at the photos later and  _ using  _ them was...good. Real good. “Yeah. Go for it.” 

Hanzo slipped up behind him, holding the phone in front of him. The camera was still open, and Jesse could see his bright red face in the center of the screen with Hanzo’s wolfish grin over his shoulder. The camera snapped, and it was frozen into immortality.

“There. Perfect.”

Hanzo crowded against Jesse’s back, pressing a shallow bite to his shoulder and dropping the phone to the desk with a clatter. His hands rested on Jesse’s hips, his mouth huffing hot breath against Jesse’s nape. Jesse suppressed a shiver, opting instead to turn around in the circle of Hanzo’s arms and pull him closer by the neck.

Hanzo would not be rushed. He laughed at Jesse’s attempts to push his limits, muttering “Absolutely childish” before he slowly dragged Jesse’s bottom lip through his teeth and ground up against him. Hanzo kissed him slow and wet, pulling off his glasses at some point so he could get even closer. 

Jesse groaned quietly when Hanzo slid one thigh between his own, rubbing up against Jesse where he was hard in his pants. Jesse clutched at Hanzo desperately, running his fingers over the buttons of his shirt, the buckle of his belt. They were still in the  _ classroom _ , for fuck’s sake, the cavernous hall echoing behind them. 

Hanzo pushed Jesse back until he was resting against the desk. Jesse dug his hands into Hanzo’s shirt, fiddling blindly with the buttons until he managed to pop a few of them open and slip his hands inside. He leaned forward to mouth at Hanzo’s tattoo, gasping when Hanzo grunted and pulled Jesse’s hips against himself. Jesse tried to bite at one tempting tendon in his neck, but yelped when he was instead pulled away by the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

Hanzo stared down at him imperiously. 

“Do not leave marks. You know better.”

They slowly shed their clothes-- mindful of the unlocked door and widely-used hallway--  until Jesse found himself wearing little at all with his forearms resting on the desk while Hanzo caressed the swell of his ass consideringly. Jesse dropped his forehead down onto his arms and eagerly spread his legs when he felt the hard length of Shimada’s cock press against him.

There was a brief pause while Professor Shimada dug around in a desk drawer for anything that could be used as lube, and then a quiet huff of laughter before Jesse felt him lean over to do something on his laptop.

His laptop, leftover from its use during the presentation.

His laptop, which Jesse had forgotten was even there.

His laptop, which now had the webcam open and a clear view of his own flushed face front and center. 

He blinked dazedly at the screen before turning away, catching his mirror image do the same in a perverse feedback loop.

“Is this not what you wanted?” Professor Shimada asked, pulling at Jesse’s hair as he pressed his hard cock up against Jesse’s ass, rubbing the head of it in slow, wet circles. “A nice little memento for later?”

Jesse couldn’t find enough air in himself to answer. He caught Shimada’s eyes through the screen, saw his carnivorous smile and the small crease of his eyebrows when Jesse rubbed himself back against Shimada’s thighs.

Professor Shimada hitched one of Jesse’s legs up, propping him up against the desk, before talking again. 

“That’s what you do, isn’t, Jesse? You  _ look  _ at me like that.” He pressed the head of his cock in, groaning at the squeeze. “Like some kind of hungry little animal waiting for a  _ treat. _ ” 

Jesse watched his face through the screen, fingers slipping on the edge of the desk when Shimada gripped his hips and pulled him back against him. He pounded into Jesse mercilessly, hastened by the sound of people passed dangerously close to the closed door of the classroom.

Suddenly Jesse was hauled up again, one of Professor Shimada’s muscular arms spread across Jesse’s chest, a hand digging blunt nails into his pecs. Jesse whined low in his throat, desperate for the attention. He felt Shimada fumbling front of him. Jesse thought maybe he was going for more lube, but--

_ CLICK _

Jesse blinked one eye open blearily. There, frozen on the screen, was a photo of himself. Professor Shimada’s face wasn’t in the photo, but his hands were on Jesse’s hips, a lock of his hair limp on Jesse’s shoulder. 

Jesse’s body was flushed all the way down through the beginning of his chest, sweat gleaming in his scant chest hair. The fat, dripping head of his cock could be seen in the bottom of the frame, dragging along the edge of the desk.

Jesse groaned again when Professor Shimada leaned in, biting his ear lightly and whispering “That will be for later.” Then, adjusting the screen: “But this will not do. Jesse, I can’t see everything. Shall we try again?”

The camera went off three times in rapid succession, each time punctuated by Shimada grunting and fucking into Jesse harder.

“That one came out blurry. Maybe you’ll have better luck?”

Jesse scrambled for his phone, setting it to record and then moaning to his heart’s content. The angle was awkward, but he could just get a glimpse of the professor’s face in ecstasy, eyebrows drawn in concentration as he  _ used  _ Jesse. Jesse managed to get a hand underneath himself. It jostled the phone, but he knew it would still pick up the slapping of skin on skin and the wet noises of Jesse’s hand on his own cock.

He fisted himself roughly, squeezing every time Shimada sheathed himself and lingered. Finally, the phone ran out of space and it stopped recording.

“I don’t-- my camera isn’t very good.” Jesse managed to get out. “T-try the computer again.”

Shimada shuffled around him, setting the device’s video settings and then roughly shoving Jesse down by the shoulder blades so that he could look at himself fucking Jesse’s ass on the screen. Jesse peeked up, immediately throbbing a little bit when he saw the satisfaction in the professor’s eyes as he locked his strong hands on Jesse’s hips and pulled him back again and again.

Jesse bit his arm trying to stay quiet, finally coming with a harsh shudder and twitch and going limp while Shimada kept grinding into him, dipping the head of his cock just a couple inches inside the rim of his asshole and pushing it right into Jesse’s overstimulated prostate. 

Jesse finally felt a wet spurt of cum inside him and he sighed with satisfaction, trembling when Shimada slowly pulled out of him. Hanzo pushed the come back inside him, patted him on the ass, and then helped him put his clothes back on. Despite the leaking and general soreness, Jesse felt pretty damn good.  
  


As he prepared to leave, Hanzo stopped him. He was still wiping up his desk and filing away his papers for later. The damned laptop was now neatly closed and tucked into its carrying case.

“The university’s policy about cell phone usage is in the syllabus. Don’t let me catch you again.”

Jesse blushed but managed to wink a little. “Only if you keep me stocked up on pics, sir.”

Hanzo smiled to himself as he piled papers into his briefcase. 

“Check your messages when you get home.”


	9. McHanzo Office AU: accidental dick pic SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on this tweet: 
> 
> BOSS: Know why I called you in here?  
> ME: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic  
> BOSS: [stops pouring 2 glasses of wine] Accidentally?

Hanzo Shimada is an intimidating man.

He kills with kindness. Occasionally Hanzo calls people into his office– his expensively furnished, floor-to-ceiling-window-view, big-desk-in-the middle office. He sits them down in one of his exceedingly uncomfortable chairs (surely a tactic of some kind, Jesse thinks), pours them a drink…

And fires them.

And Jesse has _so_ many reasons to be fired.

Half his diet is fruit from the company-stocked fruit bowl; he turns in assignments that “creatively” fulfill their requirements; he browses his phone when his computer screen is loading the name of “dual productivity,” and sometimes he gets a little too friendly with his boss. Shimada has never said anything about that last one, but Jesse still gets nervous when Hanzo purposefully steps away from his playful advances.

And then there was the Incident last night.

Shimada is smiling when Jesse sits down, his grin sharp as a shark in bloody waters.

“How is your work going today, Jesse?” Shimada’s back is to him at his little drink cart. He’s uncorking a decanter of something brown and smokey, and Jesse thinks that it might as well be arsenic, considering this is most likely the death of his career.

“Uh. Pretty good, Mister Shimada.” He flinches at the slight clink the the glass makes on the table. Hanzo has poured it neat, just how Jesse takes it.

“Please, call me Hanzo,” he purrs. “Have a sip, Jesse. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” His eyes twinkle as he perches himself on the arm of couch adjacent to Jesse’s chair. “After all, it’s just us in here.”

Jesse sips nervously. It’s good bourbon, probably at least 15 years old. It tastes like ash on his tongue.

“Have you enjoyed your time at this company so far?”

Jesse quickly nods. “Very much. Love it. It’s. Uh. It’s…great.” He trails off. Where is this going?

“Because _I’ve_ enjoyed your time here so far.” Hanzo’s hand settles on the edge of the arm of Jesse’s chair.

Is he trying to fake him out?

Jesse shifts in his seat, heart lodged in his throat. He’s sweating bullets now, liquor sloshing a little when his hand twitches nervously.

Hanzo leans in, tapping his fingers in a line ever so close to Jesse’s arm.

“Do you know why I called you in here?”

Jesse takes a deep breath, then lets it out. Takes another. Steels himself.

“Is this because I accidentally sent you a dick pic last night?”

Hanzo freezes. His hand is millimeters from Jesse’s own.

“Accidentally?”

“I–-yeah-– sorry, shit, please don’t fire me-–”

“You _accidentally_ sent a photo of your penis to me with the subject ‘largest erection under construction in downtown.’”

Jesse sinks into his seat, hand smashed over his face as if he can shove all his shame back inside.

“It was _supposed_ to be a photo for an article about _recent city development_.”

“…I see.” Hanzo’s hand has frozen on Jesse’s chair, so close Jesse can feel the little hairs on his forearm brushing up against Hanzo’s knuckles.

“Is there any way to make this less awkward?”

Hanzo pulls his hand away, inspecting his nails. Jesse suspects they are spotless and this is all for show. “I will let you keep your job on two conditions. One: please leave at least one orange in the fruit bowl now and then. They are my favorite.”

Jesse nods.

“And two…” Here Hanzo’s smile returns, searing in its intensity. “Next time you send me a dick pic, don’t apologize. And use a better angle.”

And then he sweeps out of his office (more for effect than anything, Jesse suspects) and leaves Jesse, flabbergasted, to deal with his secretary.


	10. ALERT: Resident Cowboy Afraid of Horses SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt on tumblr: _Hanzo discovers that Jesse, resident cowboy enthusiast, is actually terrified of horses._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly partly based on this image lmao
> 
> http://68.media.tumblr.com/3ef3ac89049445ab75d079ee4d4cfbf2/tumblr_inline_ombtajOL6s1szgq3g_540.jpg

“Jesse.”

“I _won’t.”_

 _“Jesse._ If you do not get out the car this instant and at least look a horse in the eye today I will personally remove every single piece of Clint Eastwood paraphernalia you own from our home.”

Scandalized, Jesse gasps.

“You wouldn’t.”

Hanzo nods. “I would and have, in fact, thought about it on multiple occasions. Get out of the car.”

Jesse grips the doorhandle but reluctantly scoots out of the car. His eyes scan the grounds in front of him: there’s a house and large barn complex across the way. 

He hears a distant whinny. He flinches.

“I’ve done special ops and climbed a moving train but if you make me get on that monster today I’m filing for divorce as soon as we get home, Hanzo.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes and drags Jesse along by the hand. The weather is nice– warm, clear– and the scent of hay and animal warmth rolls along on the breeze. Jesse turns 40 today.

“Please drop the dramatics. This was supposed to be a gift.”

“Isn’t there a saying about gift horses?”

“ _Yes_.” Hanzo squeezes his hand. “Not to look one in the mouth. We are going to conquer your fear today, cowboy. Let us see you earn that title.”

Jesse ducks his head, hiding under his hat while he grumbles. “Well the name ain’t _horseboy_ , dangit. Let a man live.”

Hanzo stops, giving Jesse the Look. The one that tells Jesse to cut the bullshit and get to the point. It’s the same look that got Jesse so smitten in the first place.

“Why are you so afraid of horses, Jesse?”

“I don’t trust ‘em.” He scuffs his boots in the dirt a little bit. A spur jingles, and a horse across the paddock perks up its ears. Jesse side-eyes it warily and moves to put Hanzo between the two of them.

Hanzo squeezes his hand and attempts to pull him closer to the fence. “I had many horses growing up. They are fine animals.”

“They’re too _tall._ And they look at you like they _know_ things.”

“They are loyal.”

“Their teeth are too big. And they sweat a lot.”

“ _You_ sweat a lot, you ridiculous man.”

Jesse tugged at Hanzo’s hand when the horse started walking towards them. He made a panicked noise, glancing furiously back and forth between his hand in Hanzo’s grasp and the parked car.

“Hanzo, do _not_ make me touch that thing. _Don’t.”_

Hanzo sighed, letting go of McCree’s hand and steadfastly not laughing when the cowboy tumbled into the dirt.

The horse ambled up to them, blowing and eyeing Hanzo’s bag. Sure enough, Hanzo reached in a drew out a couple of apples.

“Okay, Jesse. But I am only sharing this fruit with one creature today and it is either you or the horse. And right now the horse is winning.”

The horse snorted smugly. Jesse glared.

Gift horse, indeed.

 


	11. McHanzo: were!Cree SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree transforms in the middle of a date. Based on a prompt I got on tumblr: _Prompt: Were!Cree changing forms in front of Hanzo out of nowhere and Hanzo expecting to get murdered, instead he gets cuddled by the happiest pupper. (Could just stay cuddles or turn into soft sex, whichever!)_

Just when Jesse thinks he must be the luckiest guy in the world, Hanzo goes and schedules their next date for the night before the full moon.

It’s not that Jesse’s been dishonest with Hanzo. He’s actually been rather open about his condition. Weirdly, Hanzo hadn’t seemed too bothered his his admission of lycanthropy. He’d put up with the scenting, kept up with Jesse’s extra energy, and rather seemed to enjoy his more hirsute qualities. 

But at times like these, Jesse isn’t sure whether the concept of him being an actual literal werewolf had _clicked_  for Hanzo.

“Babe. Sweetheart. _Honey pie_. I love you, but are you sure this is a good idea?”

Hanzo shrugged and continued browsing the movie selection on the screen.

“You have excellent control, and this should be a rather sedate activity.”

Jesse struggled to swallow a whine. Sedate, sure, but easy? Not with Hanzo warm near him on their couch, smelling of their recent dinner and their shared laundry detergent. Not with the moon fat in the sky, fur itching under his skin and fingers flexing with phantom claws. Not like this.

Hanzo glanced at Jesse’s face and frowned. “Do you need to leave?”

Jesse shook his head. “Nah, I can…I got it. I’ll be okay.” More quietly, he repeated it to reassure himself. “It’ll all be fine.”

So they settled into the couch, Jesse playing little spoon to Hanzo’s ridiculous muscle mass. 

Except Jesse _can’t_ handle it. He’s trying. He’s trying _really hard._ He keeps his fingers tied up in each other, tapping away on his palms trying to keep his nails blunt. He forgoes the popcorn in favor of clenching his heavy jaw.

He makes it halfway through the movie before he breaks.

See, he can hardly focus on the screen. Not when all he can think of is the ripe moonlight outside and Hanzo’s breath by his ear and his hands on Jesse’s hips, and, oh, his clothes are too tight, he can’t breathe–

He’s abruptly startled out of his thoughts by a shout and clatter behind him as Hanzo moves out of the way just in time to avoid getting crushed by Jesse’s huge shape. He looks shocked, his face in contrast as the movie plays on behind him. Jesse is casting a deep shadow against the couch, and Hanzo stares up at him with eyes as big as dinner plates.

He tries to apologize for the sudden rain of fabric shreds now fluttering down on Hanzo, but his mouth is the wrong shape for it. Instead he whines, ears lowered, and backs up. He stumbles over the coffee table and nearly breaks it when he lands on his back, staring staring dumbfounded past his giant paws up at the ceiling. 

It’s close, sure, but the full moon isn’t for another day. He should have been able to handle this. He should have been _better._

Hanzo appears in front of him. He looks cautious, afraid. Like he doesn’t want to get too close. Jesse closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see the rejection when it inevitably comes.

Instead, what he gets is this:

“Do you need me to call Mercy?”

Hanzo’s voice is quiet, but calm. When Jesse opens his eyes again Hanzo is kneeling nearby, one hand on his phone, the other hovering just above Jesse’s massive, hairy chest. The movie has been paused, the lights flicked on. Jesse blinks in the light, his eyes already better suited for the dark.

Jesse shakes his head, his long snout carving a path through the air. He growls frustratedly at his own incompetence, regretting it immediately when the noise makes Hanzo leap back.

Jesse moves like a man trying to make himself small: he hunches low, ears flat and tail tucked as he moves to run away into his bedroom. He’ll have a hell of a time working the latch with his hands halfway to paws, but he’s sure that Hanzo would prefer a door between them right now. 

He’s stopped by a strong arm in front of him. Standing, Jesse towers over Hanzo by a good two feet, but Hanzo is still a broad man, and he uses his body now as a barrier between Jesse and his retreat.

“I will not let you feel shame for this,” Hanzo says. He’s peering at Jesse determinedly. There is caution there, yes, but Hanzo is overcoming his clear discomfort to make sure Jesse is okay. Jesse slowly ducks his head to rest his massive jaw on Hanzo’s shoulder. There’s a slight tremor to his body, but one hand comes up to rest along Jesse’s furry back.

“You are still you, correct?” He pets down Jesse’s sides, smoothing the unruly fur under his nails.“ Jesse McCree, sharpshooter with an awful taste in movies?”

Jesse growls, offended, but this time he just gets a deep laugh in return. 

Then Hanzo does something unbelievable: he leads Jesse back to the couch. He gently pushes Jesse down onto it, rights the coffee table, and adjusts himself so that Jesse is once again draped across his lap. Jesse rumbles contentedly, wiggling and nuzzling his face against the planes of Hanzo’s stomach. They hardly fit on the couch anymore, but Jesse whines happily when Hanzo’s fingers tangle in the thick fur on his belly.

The movie starts again, and this time the call of the moon isn’t so deafening. Not when Hanzo’s hands on his chest are scratching that primal itch more than any run in the woods could– and not when Hanzo leans down and promises that the night of the actual full moon will be _much_ more exciting _._


	12. LET HIM REST/noodle dragons SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> listen...listen. let him rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took some prompts on my tumblr (hhgggx.tumblr.com) because I wanted to be more succinct in my writing. All of these are under 500 words, so I decided to group them together. A couple are vaguely McHanzo, but mostly it's just me fuckin' around with noodle dragons.

1.

_Prompt: Hanzo is laid up in the infirmity for some odd reason and McCree has to pet-sit the noodles._

 

“Hanzo, I can’t do this anymore.”

Hanzo is exhausted. He’s bruised, battered, and bound up in gauze, but McCree’s words are enough to sting him further. He sits up from his bed in the medical bay to look at McCree, who’s hovering in the doorway to his room, hat in hand.

“…Excuse me?”

McCree shakes his head. “I can’t _do this_ anymore, Hanzo. It’s exhausting. How do you host dragons 24/7? I can hardly manage it for twenty minutes at a time.”

Hanzo relaxes back into his pillows, comforted by the beeping of the monitors next to him now that he knows he has nothing real to stress about. 

“The dragons manifested themselves when I was injured, but I am unable to monitor their behavior while bound to the medical ward. You know this.”

“Yeah,” McCree whines, “but why’d you pick _me_ to watch the critters?”

“My brother is currently away, McCree, otherwise I would have him care for them. Are they giving you that much trouble?”

“One of them stole my belt buckle, Hanzo, and I can’t figure out where he squirreled it away.”

Hanzo nods. “That seems…typical.”

“And the other one keeps stealing food off my plate. It stuck its lil snout in my _coffee_ , Hanzo.” He’s pleading now. “You don’t mess with a man’s caffeine.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. “Saki occasionally eats my tea leaves, McCree. Consider yourself on light duty.”

McCree’s eyes dart around the room before he leans closer, hand held up to his mouth as if afraid someone will overhear. 

“Hanzo.” His face is deathly serious. “They follow me when I use the bathroom. Please. You gotta _do_ something.”

At that, Hanzo’s face twists, and then he chuckles. Snorts. Convulses, slapping his knee and almost pulling his stitches. It’s worth it to see McCree’s face go beet red as he breaks down.

When Hanzo looks up again, his eyes are warm, his cheeks drawn up in breathless humor. 

“McCree–- Jesse.” Hanzo interrupts himself with another laugh. “If those are the least of your complaints, I may leave them with you longer just to see how attached they get.”

Then he sees a hint of blue at McCree’s wrist– a hint of whiskers peeking out of McCree’s glove. When his gaze flicks up to McCree’s shoulders, he’s sure he sees a tiny horn poking out next to a suspicious lump under McCree’s serape.

“And tell me, Jesse…” Hanzo’s smile turns mischievous. “Are you _sure_ the affection is completely unwanted?”

\---

2.

_Prompt: mchanzo going to adopt a pupper or a cat or any animal really. But they gotta make sure the dragons and the animal get along first_

 

“That is not a dragon.” _ **  
**_

McCree grimaces. “It is too. It’s in the name: bearded dragon.”

“Yes,” Hanzo says slowly, “but it is not a _dragon_.”

McCree gently pets Peanut’s back where he’s settled against his shoulder. The lizard had crawled up and pancaked in about five seconds flat.

“Then tell me, wise guy, just what makes a dragon a _dragon_.”

Hanzo tilts his head consideringly.

“It is not fierce.”

McCree chuckles. “Wait until you catch ‘im with a plate of butternut squash in his tank.”

“You cannot control it.”

“ _He_ is a perfectly independent animal. And I can coax him to cuddle just fine.” McCree shrugs his serape around himself to demonstrate, tugging down the edge to show Peanut’s eyes slowly closing. “That’s all that matters for a pet, anyhow.”

“Aha!” Hanzo jabs a finger at him. “There. A dragon is not a pet. They do not _cuddle_.”

“Oh yeah?” McCree raises an eyebrow. Then tell me what your little buddies’re doing right now.”

Hanzo looks down: he has armfuls of reptile. The snouts of his translucent animals are rubbing up on his body contentedly, one hiding its head in Hanzo’s kyudo-gi while the other digs into his armpit.

“Your critters are wigglier than Peanut here and half as good at listenin’, so I’d say that if one of us has the right to call themselves a dragon tamer, it ain’t you.”

Hanzo stares blankly at the dragons wiggling in his arms. McCree smirks and walks off, crooning to Peanut all the while.

“Let’s get you some waxies, lil guy,” McCree says with a laugh. “You deserve it.”

\--

3.

_Prompt: how about mccree waking up in bed with hanzo to find one of his dragons is curled up cat-like on mccree's belly_

 

McCree wakes with a snort. There’s a thin strip of light shining right in his eyes, and he’s a tad too hot–- though neither of these are the reason he’s woken up. **  
**

No, see, it’s not the tangle of blankets around his legs; it’s not the sliver of sunrise beaming at him through the blinds. His reason for waking today is the creature currently settling itself on his sternum. One of Hanzo’s dragons has manifested in the middle of the night and is currently coiled up on Jesse’s chest, delicate horns digging into the soft skin of his pec and tongue just barely peeking out of its maw.

“Hanzo,” he rasps, blindly thwacking an arm out to his side. Hanzo grunts next to him when he connects. “Hanzo. Code three. We got a noodle knot on our hands.”

“Just move her,” Hanzo mumbles into his pillow. He resettles himself out of McCree’s reach and promptly returns to his light snoring. McCree sighs resignedly. Hanzo’s never much for effort in the morning. He’s currently face-down on their bed with his face mashed into a pillow, his hair thick and wild around his head: the picture of uninterruptable rest.

“Easier said than done,” McCree groans. He reaches out tentatively to grip the knotted ball of dragon in one hand. A miniscule arm twitches and flails when he pokes the dragon’s soft side, her tiny claws catching on McCree’s skin and tickling just a bit while she yawns wide and snuggles deeper into Jesse’s chest hair.

“C’mon, sweetie,” McCree croons, trying to carry the modestly-sized spirit-beast in one broad palm. He’ll just set her on the bedside table near Hanzo’s ribbon. She likes that thing good enough to snuggle with it. “Ain’t no thing; just gonna pick you up and–”

And suddenly she wakes abruptly, twisting and falling out of his hand. Before McCree can even hiss a warning, the dragon falls a perilous foot and half and lands on Hanzo’s bare back.

McCree freezes, expecting the worst. Hanzo’s not a morning person– and often intolerant of interruptions to his rest. McCree’s been on the receiving end of a pre-coffee Hanzo’s barbs more than once, and isn’t looking forward to a scolding now, before he’s even got pants on.

But Hanzo just grunts a little, rolls over, and continues sleeping like the world’s densest log. He’s still facing away from McCree, his hair wild in the early morning. Jesse props himself up on one elbow to watch, breathless, as the dragon slowly, cautiously crawls over Hanzo’s skin– then into his hair, up against his neck. It wiggles and curls itself through the tangled black nest, then settles with a lock of hair its mouth and its tummy plopped over the curve of Hanzo’s spine.

The dragon purrs. Hanzo snores. McCree lets out a sigh of relief.

It’s as calm a morning as they’re likely to get.

\--

4.

_Prompt:  Some times the Dragons's animal instincts bleed over into Hanzo and him being super embarrassed by it. Could be anything from hissing at someone for stealing a fry off his plate, to rubbing himself on McCree to make sure everyone knows he's taken :)_

“Dang,” McCree whispers, “ain’t _never_ seen him this calm.” **  
**

Beside him, Genji laughs quietly. “This is nothing. You should have seen him under a kotatsu in winter when we were children. He would hardly ever leave it.”

McCree hums and continues staring. Across the rec room, Hanzo is settled in an oversized armchair by a window. A thick sunbeam breaks through the glass, heavy with dust motes, but Hanzo seems unperturbed by it all. His eyes are closed; his hair is down, soft-looking wisps curling up against his cheeks. His normally stiff shoulders are loose and his limbs are splayed haphazardly over the arms of the chair. It makes McCree’s heart ache to see him so sedate.

“Is he sleeping?” Hana chimes in from next to them. She, too, has poked her head around the top of the couch to stare.

McCree has barely enough time to slap his hand over her mouth before she can get any louder.

“Hush,” McCree hisses. “Let the poor man rest.”

“I am not sleeping,” Hanzo slurs, stretching his shoulders a little before turning his face into the hot ray of light. “I am just…resting my eyes…”

Genji laughs under his breath and points out a spot of drool in Hanzo’s beard.

“See that? Truly the face a cold-blooded killer.”

“Cold-blooded _somethin_ ’,” McCree mumbles. Then, a little louder: “You doin’ alright, Han? Want a blanket or anythin’?”

“No, no…” Hanzo murmurs, slumping down even further into his chair. “The heat here is…quite enough…”

–

It’s only later, when Hanzo has woken more fully and gotten a strong mug of tea in his stomach, that he realizes what’s happened: the dragons, sated and sleepy, had bled over into his behavior again. He swears McCree to secrecy. McCree doesn’t have the heart to tell him that Hana almost certainly has a video of him up somewhere on the internet.


	13. McHanzo monster transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree stays with Hanzo while weird changes happen to him.

_Prompt: ok but a very slow monster tf mchanzo thing where one of them is gradually becoming something horrifying and trying to cling on to humanity as much as possible while his bf is torn between "well that sucks that you're kind of unhappy" and "i would absolutely Fuck That"_

 

_Original answer: “Listen, babe. Babe, listen. I understand that this is tough for you and that you feel like your very soul is being cleft in twain, but your weird monster dong is really doing it for me rn”_

\--

The change is gradual.

It starts one morning when McCree wakes to see that Hanzo’s nails have changed color. At first he thinks that perhaps it’s just the remnants of their dinner, turmeric from curry sunk into the nail bed. Hanzo’s hands are curled softly in sleep, his breathing even and puffing softly against his pillow. McCree strokes Hanzo’s cheek and smiles at the scratch of uneven morning stubble against his thumb. 

–

A couple weeks later, McCree notices scales. It starts out like a rash on Hanzo’s side, under his ribs, and Hanzo scratches at them incessantly as they spring up like an allergy. The more upset Hanzo gets, they faster they bloom, until he’s patchy and blue like a piebald snake. 

Hanzo wears more sunscreen, insists that perhaps his skin is just sensitive to the seasonal changes. His nails are thicker, curled and sharp, and they get the itch down well enough. It’s nothing to worry about.

–

Then come the mood swings. Hanzo is normally an intense person, but whatever’s happening to him punches up the power on his emotions. His laugh is still loud, but now it has a rasp to it, worse than a smoker’s cough. His angry growls are deeper, a vibrato from somewhere black and wet. And his kisses are still warm, still loving, but now there’s a hunger in them, with teeth to match.

Hanzo snaps at McCree one day–-literally _snaps,_ clacking his teeth together and flecking him with spittle–- before he notices and flinches away from him, backing out of the room as if horrified. It takes McCree the rest of the evening to assure Hanzo that he’s fine. That everything is fine.

–

Hanzo is scratching absently at at patch of scales on his shoulder when McCree notices the horns coming in. They can’t even be called horns, really, not when they’re just baby bumps at his temples, sensitive and sore. Hanzo’s eyes water when McCree reaches out to gently touch them. Hanzo complains that it’s too overwhelming, too much at once. He’s scared, irritated that McCree keeps _pushing_ about this. 

Perhaps it will go away, he says. Perhaps it’s a simple skin condition. Perhaps he needs to drink more water or take more vitamins. Perhaps. Perhaps.

–

Hanzo changes. Where once he was soft in sleep, now he curls dangerously, possessively, around McCree’s middle. McCree sleeps with claws at his throat, with horns nudging his shoulder blades. With every passing day, Hanzo is a bit more monstrous, but McCree doesn’t mind. It’s still Hanzo.

–

There are other differences. While Hanzo is beginning to panic about his jaw pain-– which turns out to be because his face is changing shape and he’s growing more teeth-– McCree is calm because he knows that Hanzo would never use those teeth to hurt him. 

So when McCree teases him with light touches to his growing spinal ridges or a bit of a scratch along the base of his tail, it’s with a thrill in his heart because he knows that Hanzo is _his_ and nothing can change that. 

Hanzo has his fears about the future: what more changes will happen to him, whether he will one day lose his memories or humanity. But McCree?

McCree will stay with Hanzo until the day Hanzo rips his heart out, figuratively or not.


	14. Gencio, siren Lucio and Seadragon Genji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siren Lucio lures Seadragon Genji to the dark depths of the ocean.

_Original prompt: I like the thought of siren!lucio being able to charm cocky seadragon!genji and getting that excited and powerful sea dragon all docile and submissive._

The seas are vast, but Genji’s been deep before. In hundreds of years, he’d have been a fool to stay at the surface. Where the pressure reaches deafening levels is where the true beauty lays: when normal vision fails, infrared and ultraviolet shine. 

It’s here he sees the siren, so dense and luminous among the tubeworms and deep-sea vents. It’s a neon green, flashing in the dark and blinking along the trench like it’s never existed anywhere but hugging the rocks. Its body follows the curves of the formations, its fins dragging along the craggy outcropping like so much kelp at the whim of the waves. 

Its voice is alluring, like the deep-sea pressure of a new vent of magma flowing in birth into the ocean. It’s dark like night at a kilometer under the water; strong as a tidal current. The siren calls to him from afar, drawing him deeper into the black depths, into blind faith. 

Fury overtakes him when he sees where he’s been led, but Genji is old; Genji _knows_ things, and has been known.

What he’s not prepared for is the gentleness of those teeth around his heart, of the lures of lights and scent on the current. He’s not prepared for the whisper in his ears, of the ghostly touch along his gills and scales and nails. He’s old, but this being is older. 

He could stand to be taught a thing or two.

\--

It sucks at his life-force, bit by bit, and Genji goes willingly. Every night, he swims the depths and hopes to hear the siren's call. Sadder than whale song and more powerful by far, Genji can't help but long for the shivers that run down his spine when he hears the siren sing. 

One night, the siren stops singing, and looks at him with dark, intelligent eyes. It speaks.

"I didn't think I'd get such a good treat down here," the siren says, tipping its head to the side curiously. Its hair flows around it in gathered locs, the tips glowing like lures. Small fish cluster around the glowing barbs, and the siren grabs one now, quick as lighting, and eats it while Genji watches. "But man-- you're something else."

Genji flushes and can't help preening a little. The siren finishes its snack.

"Do you want me, dragon?" the siren asks, swimming closer. It circles Genji, its fine fins cascading around it like a magnificent gown. The photophores on its belly reflect the little light and make it hard to make out, and the siren would sink into the dark if Genji did not frantically follow it.

"Yes," Genji says desperately. "Yes, absolutely. How do I have you?"

The siren laughs. "You can't. You can't have me. No one can have _me_." But it stops, and runs its hands along Genji's shoulders. Its hands are warm, warmer than anything at this depth should ever be. "But I could have _you_." Its hands flow up Genji's shoulders to his neck, hovering over Genji's gills. The siren leans in, and its lips, so soft, contrast with the mouthful of serrated teeth Genji knows it has. "Would you let me have you?"

Genji nods. He'd give this being anything it asked for.


	15. McHanzo alien AU, implied oviposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alien AU; implied oviposition

_Prompt: I was imagining Jesse being apart of a crew sent to scope out a new planet. He's studying some weird fauna when he comes face to face with Hanzo, and the next thing he knows he's waking up with a pleasant afterglow and a belly full of eggs_

Original answer:

Jesse’d taken the new assignment in stride; after all, being a newer member of  Overwatch meant taking the lumps with the rest. 

He just hadn’t thought the lumps would be so literal.

He woke up feeling soft: lazy and slow, heavy-limbed, and pleasantly warm. Whatever was wrapped around him had too many arms and too much body heat, but it was comfortable. The slow rocking against him was comforting, to the point that he sighed and leaned into it. When he woke up with a strange humanoid and with too many limbs,though? He might have screamed a little. 

The screams were quickly quelled by soothing pats and strokes from the tentacles around him. The suckers patted up against him gently, kissing along his back and down his sides comfortingly as he settled back into strange grogginess.

Usually he’d go with his gut in situations like this– flight or fight, react or submit. But now? Now he felt his gut swell, and his heart swoop.Something incredible had happened last night and he was sure he wouldn’t want to forget it anytime soon.

 

\--

 

Addition:

What he remembers of yesterday is…hazy. He’d been scouting the area their ship had landed in and carefully cataloging flora when he’d started on what appeared to be a humanoid. This was unusual: the initial scans had shown only lower lifeforms such as small rodents and insects. 

They look mostly human-– tall, two legs, two arms, two eyes, etc-– and they’re carrying a pair of heavy-looking blue animals. The furred snakes are resting on their shoulders, small heads twining down muscular arms to rest their heads on each wrist protectively. Their little tongues taste the air while the humanoid only stares blankly, seemingly startled.

Of course, Jesse’s first instinct is to greet it.

He holds out a hand to shake, and then, when the creature only stares at him hesitantly, removes the helmet of his spacesuit so he can show his face. Surely having a recognizable, if somewhat alien face, would be preferable?

This is his undoing.

It’s not quick. It’s not painful. In fact, Hanzo, as the creature introduces itself, is quite friendly once introduced. He does shake McCree’s hand– grasping tightly with both of his own, in fact– and seems friendly enough. The twin snakes on his arms get no mention, aside from an apology for their curious tongues flicking at Jesse’s wrists when they shake hands.

The thing is, Hanzo’s biology is _weird_. His hands give off a kind of secretion– good for helping him climb, apparently– that clings to Jesse’s skin. He takes a swab of it for later analysis and does his best to wipe the rest off on his pants, but the residue of it clings after several days and several showers. Jesse meets Hanzo in secret every time he’s sent planet-side to do recon. Hanzo had begged him not to reveal his presence.

“I am…fleeing, I suppose,” Hanzo said awkwardly around a mouthful of sharp teeth. Jesse’s babblefish translated it effortlessly, but he was still surprised by the pain inflected in the voice. “A ship as large as yours is sure to leak word of my presence back to my home planet.”

“Say no more, darlin’,” Jesse had said, raising one hand to cut Hanzo off. “We can just…keep gettin’ friendly like this. And then we’ll go our merry ways, yeah?”

Hanzo had nodded, and smiled, and patted Jesse’s arm affectionately-– leaving another layer of that strange residue on his skin.The ever-present snakes had just waved their tails as if amused.

Jesse feels more and more relaxed as the days go on. He still can’t quite get Hanzo’s residue off, but the layers feel less and less intrusive the more time goes on. He finds himself feeling heavy in Hanzo’s presence, the snakes occasionally even winding slowly down Hanzo’s arm and partially onto Jesse’s shoulder. They flick their tongues at his ears and undulate over Jesse’s collarbones as he sighs tiredly. 

It doesn’t quite click that the snakes are _part_ of Hanzo until one night Jesse is lying on his back in a bed of bio-luminescent ferns with Hanzo at his side. Hanzo is pointing out the constellations of this strange new world, hand extended into the heavens. One of his snakes has gathered on his chest in a ball, and Jesse lifts one hand up to pet the smooth, softly-furred skin of the creature. Hanzo stutters as if Jesse has touched him intimately-– and perhaps he has, because Hanzo goes a fetching navy blue in the cheeks and snatches Jesse’s wrist with his hand. 

And then Jesse feels it: warmth radiating from the residue on his arm like sunshine in May, like a warm stream rushing over his skin and up his throat to his face, where he feels his head swim. He falls back into the foliage and sighs. Supine, he stares up at the fat twin moons and Hanzo’s silhouette against it. Hanzo, with his animals and his secrecy and his blue blush and– and–

and Hanzo is kissing him slowly, deep in the shadows of the glowing ferns on an alien planet. Hanzo has wrapped himself– snakes and hands and legs and all– around Jesse in the soft forest floor, and they make a night together Jesse is sure he will never be allowed to forget.

When he leaves the planet, Hanzo assures him that the gift he’s left him will last longer than any tryst in the woods. Hanzo will find him-– and their offspring–- again someday. 

Perhaps sooner than he knows.


	16. McCree: Hunger SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree knows hunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for disordered eating and issues relating to it.

The first day of hunger is the hardest. Sure, the third day brings lightheadedness; and yeah, day five leaves you feeling like even your bones are hollow.

But on day one your body still remembers what it’s like to have food in it. It’s still processing the remains of the last 24 hours. Disgusting as it is, you still have waste moving through you, steady traversing your innards to the inevitable last stop through your system. Your body is still working-– still processing.

That first day, your stomach rolls and buzzes. It gurgles and shivers in your gut-– swells when you down glass after glass of water hoping to stifle it.

McCree has known hunger. He’s known months where he did the most basic math to calculate just how much he absolutely needed before he began to atrophy.

His youth was a scrabbling existence: canned vegetables to canned meats, fast food when he had money in his pockets and chocolate bars scarfed in the aisle just so he wouldn’t have to walk past the clerk with them when those same pockets were empty.

Then came Overwatch: a steady paycheck, steady housing, steady food.

He never did quite get used to the feeling of a full stomach.

Despite his late start, a regular schedule did him good: assisted by a good diet, he finally hit his long-overdue growth spurt and shot up like a weed, filling out seemingly overnight. Suddenly he had a lot more to maintain-– and the hunger, once desperate, was quieted for a bit. 

Didn’t mean he didn’t maintain a private bit of security, though. He kept granola bars under his mattress and bottles of water in his cupboard. He took fresh fruit out of the cafeteria and kept it on his windowsill until it rotted, just because he could never bring himself to eat it as an idle snack lest a time come that he really _needed_ it. The fruit flies were a nuisance, sure, but the fear of returning starvation was worse.

Gabe was livid when he found out. Made McCree see a counselor, made him sit and chew slowly until he realized that he didn’t have to wrap his arms around his plate, guarding his food from everyone else at the table. Gabe convinced him that he was a different man than the person that lived on cans and candy bars. Reminded him that he he had family now, and family didn’t go away.

–

But it did. 32 and shit out of luck, McCree hopped back on the road. He had a bounty on his head and hell on his heels– and, once again, hunger nipped at his bones. 

Day one of hunger is the hardest. Your stomach remembers what it’s like to have food in it. It gurgles and _talks_ to you, demands you acknowledge it.

Day two, you might be nauseous. But you can work through it with enough caffeine.

Day three brings lightheadedness. Lack of focus.

Day four is exhaustion. Bouts of anger.

Day five is shame and dull pain in your gut. Perhaps you feel your pulse more keenly. 

Day six brings delirious tears from even the most hardened. You dream of gravy. You smell peaches from a passing truck and go weak at the knees. 

And on day seven, the lord rested. McCree found a ten dollar bill in his pocket and went to one of those modern churches, that most beautiful of shrines: the 24 hour diner.

He liked diners, with their endless pots of black coffee and pancakes the size of serving platters. He liked eggs over hard and pie with buttery crusts and hamburgers rare with mushrooms and fried onions on top. He liked to eat.

It was just that he _couldn’t_.

McCree found that even with a week of fasting behind him and a five-scoop sundae in front of him, his throat was a bit too thick to swallow. 

What do you do when you’re so blinded by the future that you can’t look at the present? When the meal is already gone before you’ve touched it with your fork? When the plate is always empty in your mind, streaked with sauce never savored?

What do you do about it?

What do you do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've dealt with eating disorders at various times in my life, and it's always horrible. Your body wants food, but your brain says no. Sometimes it starts with a desire to POSSESS food-- to own it, to have it in your pantry. Once you eat it it'll be gone, so you don't eat it. You look at it like it's security and safety, and to eat it would be to destroy that balance in your life. 
> 
> And then one day you have money and food aplenty, but you still can't bring yourself to eat. You're still afraid that if you eat that last bowl of soup, you won't be able to get more. Bird in hand, and all that.


	17. Pharmercy: picnic date SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Food from a small nearby cantina, beer from the convenience store, a blanket in the park: these are the key components of Angela’s tentative date plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expanded version of a tumblr post.

Food from a small nearby cantina, beer from the convenience store, a blanket in the park: these are the key components of Angela’s tentative date plans.

Their conversation is comfortable and energetic as they walk through the forested paths of park, bags in hand. When Angela eventually settles on a spot (shady, with a thick spread of grass and moss underneath), Fareeha shakes out their blanket and gestures with a wide sweep of her arms for Angela to sit. Angela laughs; for all her showmanship, you'd think  _Fareeha_ had been the one with enough guts to ask out the object of her affections. 

Angela sets out their food over the blanket while Fareeha settles herself. She lays opens her styrofoam takeout container and pulls out soft, warm tortillas and little dishes of tender meats with all the accompaniments in plastic cups on the side. The bottles Fareeha picked out sweat in the heat, clinking as they're shifted on the blanket.

The lunch is leisurely. They're old friends at this point. They've known each other since they were teenagers, and twenty years of friendship have barely mellowed the quiet joy that radiates from them as they sit together in the late afternoon light. Angela stretches her feet, cracking her ankles and laughing at Fareeha's wince. Angela's been on her feet all day, and the respite in the park is more than welcome. And Fareeha-- dutiful, responsible Fareeha-- has been more than busy with her own work. The fact that their schedules lined up for today is almost a miracle. Angela had asked her out over a month ago. The overlap in their schedules was so sudden and unexpected that Angela had hardly had time even for these loose plans, worried that something would change and snatch the opportunity away again. 

The conversation flows, then slows, the quiets as they bite into their food, enjoying the sunshine and rich flavors. Fareeha bumps her shoulder against Angela's amicably, and Angela just about chokes on her lengua when she has to stifle a nervous giggle. 

They turn to each other at the same time: Angela swallows a mouthful of cilantro and onions just as Fareeha is reaching up to wipe a stray grain of rice from her lips, and it's all over. They fall onto each other, moving with unhurried intent. After all, this has been a long time coming-- inevitable, one might say.

Fareeha tastes like barbacoa and shandy when Angela licks into her mouth. It takes her by surprise– the subtle heat and bitter-sweet tang ignite something in her that’s mouth-watering and all-consuming.

And Fareeha, oh– Fareeha is quiet about it, her usual exuberance tamed like the glowing coals of a friendly fire, her passion expressed in soft sighs and nipping teeth. Angela forgets about the last crumbs of her food cooling on her paper plate; she nearly tips her drink over in her haste to meet Fareeha’s lips.

Even as she fumbles to set her bottle down, to move the remains of their dinner to the side, Fareeha presses up against Angela’s hands. They’re so chastely settled on firm shoulders, but the heat there is luxurious, the hard press of muscle to easy to lean on. So easy, too easy; yet soft around the edges, every bit of her curling in a way that fits right into Angela’s own angles. Angela could give into this for hours, just digging her fingers into the soft hairs at the base of Fareeha’s skull and nuzzling into her jaw. 

Fareeha works her way down to the ground, and Angela follows with all the composure she can manage without separating their bodies too much. Their picnic blanket is soft under them, and the grass beneath that softer still, a cushion under fat clouds on a day just for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really fucking gay. I cannot believe I haven't posted any femmeslash yet.


	18. McHanzo: werewolf!Hanzo SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: We get a lot of werewolf!McCree, but what about werewolf!Hanzo? :3c

The hunger is deep and endless. Some nights it claws at Hanzo’s stomach like cracked plaster, splitting and shattering the thin layer of humanity he has left. Other nights he’s left tranquil, moon-drunk and slow, and the hunger abates momentarily.

He’s spent years trying to sate that hunger– to fill that un-namable void. He’s tried drink, and sex, and frenzied fighting. He left to the wilds, once, convinced that the wolves were the only ones that could understand him. But that had been a farce: even wolves have family, and close ones at that. Wolves have structure; wolves have the intimacy of pack bonds that keep them warm in winter.

His first winter alone was grueling. He was left cold and empty, and the hunger gnawed at his bones with all the patience of a scavenger. He spent that year carving into the frozen mountainside to build himself a home. It was a small one, but somewhere he could be himself–neither man nor wolf, but spirit all melded together. 

The transformations were still hard. He had to leave his scraps of human civilization alone on the full moons, and he was always fearful that he would come back in his mindlessness and destroy what he’d built for himself.

Funny, that. He always feared his self-destruction, but never harm from others.

That thought came back to him one night, several summers after he’d started making his place on the mountain. The cold of that first winter was far behind him that night, the mountain breezes pleasantly cool. The moon was low and and ripe as an August peach, a gasping blood orange in the sky.

A harvest moon.

He could smell smoke on those mountain breezes: woodsmoke and tobacco, gunsmoke and charred meat. Manmade smells. Human smells.

It had been years since he’d contacted other people deliberately, and it shook him to know that someone was near when the moon was this full. He would lose himself soon, and he knew that the smells would only be stronger then– the hunger would be stronger then.

He had to seek them out beforehand. He had to scare the group off.

But when he prowled through the forest, clad shadow and fur, he met a surprise: a single man by a small fire, humming quietly as he turned a spit with a lowly hare on it. His tune was soft and sweet, and Hanzo’s moon-sharp ears twitched to hear it. Hanzo closed his eyes for a split second and relaxed his hackles.

When he opened his eyes again, the man had stopped humming. The firelight still illuminated his face, and the whole camp was lit in shades of red and orange, both from moon and fire. The clearing was quiet but for the squeaky turning of the spit and the popping logs. It lent a suffocatingly warm tint to the scene, almost too cozy for Hanzo to stand with his fur and held breath.

And then the man spoke. 

“I’ll admit I wasn’t expecting company, but you’re welcome all the same.”

Hanzo flinched. When he looked up from the moss at his feet, the man was staring right at him. He’d stopped turning the spit, and fat from the hare hissed into the flames and sent little sizzles up into the stars. 

He blinked his wolf eyes. The man held his gaze. 

Hanzo retreated.

As he padded over foliage and leaf litter, he heard a quiet, “Suit yourself.” and a soft song start up again.

The hunger was ever-present. But that night, with the fire and the man and the hare, Hanzo’s hunger was but a rumble deep in the recesses of his brain. It told him: sit; speak; rest; sate yourself.

He’d be back.


	19. McHanzo: McCree is an old being NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I wish you would write a fic where Jesse is the old being for a switcheroo of the more common okami/dragon/demon hanzo trope

A wolf and coyote walk into a bar.

Well, Hanzo walks into the bar. The coyote all but saunters in minutes later, jingling his arrival with spurs that are only one part of an outfit so ostentatious Hanzo almost has to avert his eyes. And he would have, too, except  that, well…

He can’t. Whatever just walked into the establishment pulls the heat from his bones and cups it in his large hands. The newcomer spares a wink for Hanzo, and Hanzo is fairly sure that his heart all but vaults out of his throat in the desire to land in the man’s pocket.

“Name’s Jesse, darlin’, but you can call me any time.”

Hanzo has to laugh; it’s about the worst line he’s been plied with in months. But Jesse, as he’d so happily named himself, seems to take the laugh as a compliment. They get to talking; they get close, _real_ close, over the course of the night; and when Hanzo sways a little bit, drunk on the rush of a new connection, Jesse catches him and casually tucks Hanzo up against his side.

“Say, partner, we should probably get you somewhere comfy, huh?” Jesse whispers in his ear. Hanzo nods and sways along with Jesse’s swaying gate, assents to being walked past the outskirts of town to a dusty little road that has a dusty little house at the end of it. Over the walk Hanzo sobers up a bit, and now, instead of swaying from drink, he shakes in anticipation.

Jesse’s hand is warm in his, his voice honeyed sunshine in June, and it wards off the desert chill. The moon is fat above them, a ripe cream color that makes Jesse’s eyes look luminous. When Hanzo peers at him as they walk, he sees innumerable depths within them.

He looks away.

Jesse takes him in the middle of a dark, cluttered kitchen. Hanzo’s knees knock against a worn wooden table, his hands scrabbling over knick-knacks and oddities he can’t even begin to place. Bundles of herbs hang from the ceiling and their aromas waft through the warm room. 

He smells sage, and chamomile too; they warm his lungs when he gasps Jesse’s name into the dark. Jesse growls and pulls him closer, pushes harder, farther, deeper. 

When they are beyond finished and laying on sheets soft and worn, Hanzo watches Jesse in the strip of moonlight coming through the slats of the blinds. He’s a big man, but he sleeps small: curled up as if he wished to hide himself away. Hanzo wraps his arms around him and pets his nape, and Jesse unwinds himself just enough to envelope Hanzo in a searing embrace.

A wolf and a coyote walk into a bar. The moon laughs.


	20. McHanzo: A/B/O prostate massage NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Omega!Hanzo milks Alpha!McCree's prostate and it's the best goddamn thing he's ever felt.

Hanzo's fingers inside him are slow and patient. They curve and twist, massaging relentlessly. At first the intrusion just feels strange, if not unwelcome. Then he starts to feel a pressure in his gut, just under his bladder. He shifts, trying to alleviate the feeling, and then–

“Oh, _shit_ ,” McCree breathes. “What the hell is that?”

“That,” Hanzo says loftily, “is your prostate.” He presses forwards to punctuate, and McCree makes a noise like a wounded dog. His cock jumps and spits a stream of glossy precum, dripping down onto his belly into an obscene puddle.

McCree rolls his hips, but Hanzo’s other hand keeps him flat on the bed, unable to shift except to arch his back into the now somewhat overwhelming sensation. He curls his toes and hikes his legs up, giving Hanzo better access.

Hanzo is watching him intently, his brows drawn down in focus as he watches McCree’s every minute reaction. His last heat has just passed, and though it had been good -– productive, one might say–- McCree had been worn out and almost unable to keep up with Hanzo’s Omega appetites.

Which brings them to now.

“You are not to come until I say so,” Hanzo instructs. “Try and see how long you can hold out, hm?”

McCree whines and throws his head back on the pillows with a thump. Another loving rub from Hanzo’s fingers sets his cock dripping again. His knot feels dangerously full, though it’s barely started to swell. He feels overheated, maybe feverish. There’s a smell in the room not unlike right before Hanzo goes into heat, and it makes McCree feel…ripe.

“Sugar, honey, please,” he begs. “ _Do_ something.”

Hanzo laughs, a low noise that twists at McCree’s heart. He kisses at the curve of McCree’s soft thigh and twists his hand until he’s knuckle deep and prodding gently right at McCree’s prostate, pressing into it and sighing every time another drip of thick precum dribbles down McCree’s length.

“Do what?” Hanzo asks. “You already know what I want, Jesse.” He sucks a mark into the back of McCrees thigh and massages at his taint with the other hand, pressing down on both sides of McCree’s walls. McCree’s cock is a deep red and throbbing, his knot hard and swelling the longer Hanzo keeps up his treatment.

“I can’t, I can’t.” McCree shakes his head and rolls his hips fruitlessly, hands occupied just trying to hold his knees up by his shoulders. He wouldn’t be allowed to touch himself anyway. “ _Please_ , Hanzo.”

Hanzo keeps up the pace for what McCree’s pleasure-addled brain assures him must be hours, until he’s begging and covered in his own fluids. When he comes, it’s with a cry of near-pain, his brain shorting out entirely. He feels his knot thicken, searching for something to sink into, but all he has is Hanzo’s hand to push into, Hanzo’s hot breath hovering just over his balls.

When he comes back to himself and looks down, he’s amazed to see that there is not, in fact, a rush of cum on his stomach like he’d expected. The same stream of pre is there as before, his knot red and swollen. He feels like he came, but…didn’t?

“What…?” Mccree says breathlessly. “What just–?”

And then Hanzo laughs, kisses his stomach, and twists his fingers again, and starts it all over.


	21. McHanzo Breeding Kink NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can we get some breeding kink McHanzo?

“Yeah, that’s it–-  _that’s_ it, right  _there-_ –”

Hanzo’s hips still. His face is red, his chest heaving from exertion. He haphazardly pushes a lock of his hair out of his sweaty face before leaning down to mouth at McCree’s shoulder. 

“Do you ever-–” He punctuates with a roll of his hips, “Stop–-  _talking-–?”_

McCree just lets out a strangled laugh as Hanzo resumes fucking into his well-used hole. At couple previous rounds have left him sloppy and wet, cum dripping out every time Hanzo shoves his fat cock into him. 

‘Mm, nah–- ah!-– just-–  _oh, god-_ – just when you give me something to do with my mouth, sweetpea.”

Hanzo groans bodily and bites at McCree’s neck. Other marks already litter his chest, plum tones welling up in the hollows of McCree’s throat. McCree’s hands are as busy as his mouth: they scratch over Hanzo’s shoulder blades and dig at his spine, fingertips slipping in sweat but desperate nonetheless. 

All at once, Hanzo pulls out of McCree long enough to drag him by one arm and flip him over with a yelp. Hanzo shoves McCree’s face into the pillows of their bed. Everything is messy, here: the sheet has pulled off one corner of the mattress, and their clothes are scattered over the bed and floor. One of McCree’s boots is in the corner closest to the wall, mud smeared on the comforter next to it. The room is in disarray– and McCree is in the middle of it all, howling into the pillow he’s biting like a cat in heat. 

Hanzo’s hips slap against McCree’s ass, making it jiggle while Hanzo uses all his upper arm strength to heft him even higher. 

“Give you something to do with it?” Hanzo huffs and groans and pounds away. “I would rather fuck you silent-– fill your greedy–-nng–- asshole until you cannot breath, let alone form another–- ludicrous-–  _sentence.”_ Hanzo slams up against McCree’s backside, his grip on McCree’s hipbones bruisingly tight. His eyes are closed against the sparks behind his eyelids. 

McCree reaches under himself to paw as his red, comically hard cock. 

“Ah-– tell me-– tell me more, tell me-–”

Hanzo moves slowly now, drawing out his end. McCree is just on the edge of desperate, willing to do anything if it means he gets to cum. Hanzo leans down, tangles the fingers of one hand in the shaggy hair at the base of McCree’s neck.

“I would fill you with my seed, keep you full-–” He yanks McCree’s head back until his neck is arched against the strain. “Make you my pretty  _bitch,_ breed you like a-– ngh-–  _slut.”_

 _“_ Yessss,” McCree hisses. “Make me your pretty slut, Hanzo. Fuck me until you knock me up. Give your–- ah–- give your cock until I’m bursting–”

“I will plug you up, keep you full of my cum– push your belly out until everyone knows you’re full of me, and  _mine-_ – my pretty boy, my–- ah!-– you’re  _mine-–_ ”

All it takes is one hard thrust, one last step over the edge–- and McCree is spasming around Hanzo’s cock, sucking him in in silky, slippery clenches that give Hanzo no other choice but to shove in until his wiry body hair scratches against the meat of McCree’s ass. 

He can feel himself twitching as another load of thick cum spurts into McCree’s hole. It combines with the leftovers from earlier so that when Hanzo eventually eases himself out, a fat, creamy river of cum follows. 

But it’s not over yet. Hanzo slips his thumb in it, shoves what he can back in before pressing McCree into their disheveled sheets. 

“I would breed you full, Jesse, keep you ripe with my young until you knew-– mm–-” Here he squeezes McCree’s balls. “-–that you were good for nothing else. “

McCree whines, oversensitive still, and falls into the sheets, seemingly keeping his hips up by sheer force of will. 

“I’m already yours, sweetheart.”


	22. McHanzo baking SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As American As....(with recipe)
> 
> They make an apple pie.

“The  _secret_ ,” McCree says conspiratorially, “is in temperature control. It’s not all about the butter-to-flour ratio, or whether or not you do a blind bake. Nah,” he says, as he shuts the freezer door, “it’s alllll about keeping that little baby cool.” 

Hanzo peers at him dubiously from his spot leaning against the counter. He has a teeny tiny glass of umeshu in hand, but McCree has opted for keeping an insulated chest full of beer nearby. Says the carbonation keeps his taste buds clear or something. It’s devilishly hot out today, but McCree had insisted on making pie in the name of tradition.

“Should you not worry more about how wet the filling is?” Hanzo questions. “What use is a good crust if it’s oversaturated?”

McCree is dressed down in a flour-smeared undershirt and shorts. Hanzo had marveled for the better part of an hour at the shifting muscles of his forearms as he’d mixed dough with his bare hands earlier. Now, McCree chuckles and takes a swig off his beer and gestures at the bowl of apples he and Hanzo had picked out at the market earlier. 

“Ah, but Hanzo– my honeybee, my precious pie husband–” Hanzo snorts. “Perfect fillings don’t  _get_ too wet.” He slinks a little closer into Hanzo’s space. “They bubble, and they soften–” he noses at Hanzo’s jawline. Hanzo leans into it. “And then they set. Easy peasy.”

McCree pulls away. Hanzo can’t bring himself to scowl. Kisses are sweet, but air conditioning is sweeter. He presses the glass of his cup to his forehead, sighing when the oven finally beeps to announce that it’s preheated. 

“Alright, my…precious pie husband,” Hanzo says with a sheepish grin. “Tell me more about pie crust. Tell me all your family secrets.”

“Uh-uh,” McCree says with a waggle of his fingers. “Not  _all_ of ‘em. You still won’t tell me how to make perfect rice balls. But if you’ll peel those Honeycrisps I might be inclined to part with a few choice bits of info.”

They set upon the fruit with vigor. McCree mentions that they still have to keep their freezer-held crust in mind, as they don’t want it  _too_ hard, but they have plenty of time to work. “Better a firm crust than soft, after all. Gotta keep those fat layers solid.”

“Is that why you made me cut the butter so small?” Hanzo asks. “To make layers?”

“Yup,” McCree says with a nod. “And it’s the same reason we want to keep the apple slices a consistent size, too: cooks more evenly and’ll make you a better product.” He gestures with a juice-sticky hand at the spice rack. “Hand me the cardamom, would ya?”

Hanzo sifts through the row of spices, peering at the labels on each jar. Between the two of them they’ve gathered quite a collection: among their cabinet are smoked paprika and whole mustard seeds, star anise and clove, even some hard-to-track-down pure wasabi. Hanzo’s eyes linger on the ginger. 

“This would make a lovely addition, I think,” Hanzo says, adding the powdered root to the handful of bottles in his grip. “It will add a bit of… _zing_ , as I believe you would put it.”

McCree beams. “Wonderful, Hannybee! Good choice!”

They peel the huge apples and slice them into relatively even slices. McCree saves the apple cores for a “secret” for later. After tossing the pile in flour, sugar, and their seasonings, McCree pulls the crust out of the freezer. He gestures at the empty crust, which is steaming slightly in the warm kitchen air. 

“If you’d be so kind as to do the honors…”

Hanzo tips the filling into the crust, patting it down with fruit-sticky hands until it’s packed in. Then he quickly sprinkles a small bit of lemon juice over it, throws a few more pea-sized cubes of butter in, and watches with satisfaction as McCree washes the edges of the bottom crust with an egg mixture before laying the top crust over it and sliding it into the oven.

“And now,” McCree says, softly shutting the over door, “we wait.”

Hanzo glances at the timer. 

“We have an hour, Jesse,” Hanzo purrs. “And I don’t think the fireworks will start until sundown.”

McCree winks, then presses a kiss onto Hanzo’s flour-streaked cheek. 

“I’m sure we’ll think of something to do.”

–

[How to make Apple Core Apple Juice](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.green-talk.com%2Fapple-core-apple-juice-recipe%2F&t=NGRjZGNkM2VjNzY1ODEzMTI0MjcwODE2OGNmOGU3MThhZGIwZGI0ZixsTG9YU3NnWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AhhTrfRGzkiv3qfNHHgtPVA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fhhgggx.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162601262287%2Fas-american-aswith-recipe&m=1)

Spiced Apple Pie (altered from [Epicurious](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.epicurious.com%2Frecipes%2Ffood%2Fviews%2Four-favorite-apple-pie-51248690&t=YTg0Yzc1OTY4YWZhY2Y0MDExNGQ5OWNjODRiYWQ1ZDk2OWI2NjMwNixsTG9YU3NnWQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AhhTrfRGzkiv3qfNHHgtPVA&p=http%3A%2F%2Fhhgggx.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F162601262287%2Fas-american-aswith-recipe&m=1) recipe)

  * 2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour, divided, plus more for rolling
  * 1 ¼ teaspoon salt, divided
  * 1/3 cup plus 1 ½ tablespoons granulated sugar, divided
  * 3 sticks (24 tablespoons) unsalted butter, cut into small pieces and frozen for 15 minutes
  * 1 large egg
  * 1 tablespoon whole milk
  * 3 ½ pounds Honeycrisp, Braeburn, or Granny Smith apples, or a mix (I prefer a mix)
  * ½ teaspoon ground cinnamon
  * ½ teaspoon ground ginger
  * ¼ teaspoon ground cardamom
  * ¼ teaspoon ground star anise
  * ¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg
  * 1 teaspoon lemon zest
  * 2 tablespoons lemon juice
  * Coarse sugar, for sprinkling


  * 9-inch pie pan


  1. In the bowl of a food processor, pulse 2 ½ cups flour, 1 teaspoon salt, and 1 ½ tablespoons sugar. Add butter and pulse until coarse, pea-sized crumbs appear, about 10 seconds. With the machine running, add vinegar and ¼ cup ice water and process until the dough just holds together, about 30 seconds. Squeeze a small amount of dough between your fingers and if it is very crumbly, add more ice water, 1 tablespoon at a time (2 tablespoons maximum). Do not over process.
  2. Turn dough out onto a lightly floured surface and push together into a rough ball. Knead a few times to combine, then divide into two equal balls. Flatten each ball into a disc with smooth edges (no cracks), cover with plastic wrap, and refrigerate at least 1 hour (or up to overnight).
  3. Preheat the oven to 425°F with one rack on the bottom rung and one rack in the center of oven. Place a rimmed baking sheet on the bottom rack to preheat.
  4. On a lightly floured surface, roll out one disc of dough into a 13-inch round. Roll the dough loosely around the rolling pin, and then unfurl it into the 9-inch pie pan. Gently lift and settle the dough into the pan. Trim the excess dough using scissors, leaving a ½-inch overhang, and transfer to the refrigerator. On a floured piece of parchment, roll out the second disc of dough to the same size as the first and refrigerate both crusts for 30 minutes.
  5. In a small bowl, whisk together the egg and milk and set aside. Peel, core, and slice the apples into ¼-inch thick wedges. Place apples in a large bowl and mix with ¼ cup flour, 1/3 cup sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, ginger, star anise, lemon zest, ¼ teaspoon salt, and lemon. Fill the dough-lined pan with the apple mixture, packing apple slices as tightly as possible.
  6. Brush the rim with egg and milk mixture, reserving the excess. Top with the second dough round and press over apples to minimize excess space between apples and crust. Press the top and bottom crusts together and trim the top crust to a 1-inch edge around pan. Tuck top edge under bottom edge and crimp or decorate as desired. Cut five vents in the top crust for steam. Refrigerate pie for 30 minutes to set the crimp.
  7. Brush top crust with egg wash and sprinkle with coarse sugar.
  8. Place pie on the preheated rimmed baking sheet and bake until the crust begins to turn golden, 20 to 25 minutes. Rotate sheet, move to center rack, and reduce oven to 350°F. Continue baking until the crust is golden brown and you can see the thickened juices bubbling, 40 to 50 minutes more. Cool on a rack 3 to 4 hours to allow juices to set before slicing.



Author’s Notes: 

  * You can make the dough by hand if you don’t have a food processor, but you’ll want to refrigerate the dough more often to keep the butter cold– especially if your kitchen is as hot in summer as mine is. 
  * If you don’t have a rolling pin, an empty beer/wine bottle works just as well. ; )
  * Don’t be tempted to add too much sugar. This recipe calls for 1/3 cup (which honestly isn’t a lot), but I’ve even reduced it to ¼ cup before because I don’t like super-sweet desserts.
  * Milk wash can be substituted in place of the egg wash if you’re allergic or don’t have any on hand. It just won’t be as shiny.
  * Don’t forget the ice cream and/or whipped cream!




	23. Genyatta: kitsune Zen knotting human Genji NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji finds a fox following him through the night and is intrigued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags: knotting, public sex

Genji goes wandering fairly often: if it’s not the woods, it’s the city, with bars and arcades and restaurants to stalk through. It’s in one of those urban jungle hideouts that the kitsune finds Genji, and it follows him through the shadows of a festival over the course of a night. By the time it actually approaches him, Genji is sweating under the thorough wash of its gaze. 

The music is too loud to hear the creature speak, but somehow the fox’s words make it to Genji’s mind anyway, brazenly proclaimed in the concise tilt of its head:  _Shall we?_

Genji doesn’t have to ask what the creature has in mind. The summer atmosphere is still and hot, and Genji needs no excuse to slip away from game stalls and restaurants for fresher air. The kitsune follows, eyes twinkling in the dim evening light. 

They don’t speak; there’s barely enough time for a muffled moan as the kitsune takes Genji’s lips and drags his breath out of his lungs on a ragged sigh. They shuffle away into the greenery at the edge of the festival, searching out a bit of privacy among the hedges. There’s a thrill at being so public: he’d probably be disowned if he was found like this, rutting with an animal on the fringes of a public setting. But he finds it hard to resist when the creature’s claws prick at his yukata and a faint animal smell wafts into his nose. 

There’s something like dirt lodged in the thing’s nails; when Genji kisses at its wrist and bites the meat of its palm, the kitsune’s teeth reveal a faint tinge of blood, and the flaky rust makes more sense. Strangely, it does nothing to deter him.

He gives himself up; and it takes him like the animal it is, hunched over his back, hiking his clothes up until the fabric of his yukata is bunched over his back, spilling down the sides haphazardly. Genji groans into the bark of a tree and bites back a yelp when the kitsune sinks its teeth into the nape of his neck with a growl. Genji can feel its chest vibrating against his back when he leans into it. He shudders when the beast licks over the wound, kisses down his back into the dip between his shoulder blades. The fox is grinding into his hips now, the hard length of its cock making itself known. 

Genji braces himself against the tree with one arm and jerks himself off with the other. The way is slicked by sweat and precum, anticipation making him drip down into the soil like some kind of slut. He just  _wants._ The kitsune laughs deep and dark behind him while it slides in with barely a thought to preparation. And damn him, but Genji can’t think to be afraid when the way is slicked by an ungodly amount of precum, the fox’s cock pointed just enough at the tip to wedge its way in easily. 

They fuck against a tree; they fuck against a low wall and into a bush and up against a bed of flowers, rolling until they’re covered in soil and blood and their clothes are a dumpster-worthy mess. Genji rides the kitsune as hard and fast as he can, his mind not at all focused on making time for niceties. He wants to come; and he wants a thick load of cum in him  _now,_ filling him up so he has something to think about during his mandatory meditation session with his family tomorrow.

His mind is already on cleanup and maybe some fried food as a post-fuck treat when he feels it: a thick swelling inside him, right inside the rim of his hole. When he casts a look down at the kitsune’s face, it’s grinning with too many sharp teeth, its eyes upturned mischievously. It winks at his confusion and then bites at a nipple to silence any questions. By the time Genji realizes what’s happening it’s almost too late; he has half a second to decide whether or not he wants to deal with the consequences before he’s locked on the creature’s cock for god knows how long. 

But hey. It’s a festival. He’s meant to to have fun, right?


	24. McHanzo: noodle dragon messengers SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prompt for you: Genji and Hanzo will sometimes use their dragons as messengers. Like pigeons.

Something chirrups by McCree’s ear. He snuffles into his pillow, swatting with a heavy hand at the intrusion. He’s just about to sink back into oblivion when he feels tiny, needle-like teeth sink into his ear. McCree shoots up in bed clutching his ear. No blood, but he’s certainly awake now.

“ _What_ – dang it, get  _out_ of here!” He shoos the small green dragon off his lap. It chitters and lopes its gangly body over the mountain of his legs and settles for parading up and down the angles of Hanzo’s spine. 

Hanzo, who is decidedly still asleep because nobody’s dang spirit animal tried to chew on them. 

“ _Hey_ ,” McCree says irritably, shaking Hanzo’s shoulder. The dragon trills and kneads its little claws into Hanzo’s butt. “Your brother’s dragon is here. I think she’s got something to say.”

Hanzo groans and stretches lazily under his mass of blankets. Finally, he rolls over, blinking blearily at McCree in the morning light. He squints at the dragon now sitting expectantly by his face, then drags a hand over his eyes to dig out the sand.

‘Speak,” he mumbles.

Immediately, the little dragon opens her tiny maw. First she trills, hisses, teeth sharp and bright. But then another voice comes out. It’s deep and otherworldly, echoing deeper than just McCree’s ears. It’s the kind of voice that would inspire reverence– if only its subject matter were more serious.

“B R E A K F A S T   I S    I N   T E N   M I N U T E S”

A prompt for you: Genji and Hanzo will sometimes use their dragons as messengers. Like pigeons.

 


	25. McHanzo: amputee appreciation SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: body worship focused on mccree's prosthetic? 
> 
> Two men missing three limbs between them. There's a joke in there, somewhere. Someday McCree will puzzle it out and crack it just to see Hanzo cackle with that dry humor of his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to marsh-mellow-toast on tumblr for talking to me about prostheses and residual limbs and such. You're a cool bean, my dude. <3

Even McCree isn’t quite 100% certain about the circumstances surrounding the loss of his left arm. The details are about as clear as the bad homebrew that lead to the damn incident in the first place. There are plenty of ways he could figure it out if he really wanted to, sure: scar tissue tells a pretty clear story of how, but not  _why_ , not  _who_ or  _to what end._

The skin itself is pretty tidy– all sutured up, the excess skin tucked neatly around the bone and muscle– but some days it feels like there’s something off about it. It twinges in places where nerves no longer connect, or swells and shrinks with the weather.

Hanzo gets it. He’s in a similar place with his transfemoral amputations. Hanzo’s loss was much less recent than McCree’s own, and he’s had more time to adjust. He watches McCree carefully, makes sure that they do their physical therapy together. They pin up their compression stockings to dry side by side, dig into the knots of raw tension built up in each muscle group as one undivided team every night. 

Two men missing three limbs between them… There’s a joke in there somewhere. Someday McCree will puzzle it out and crack it just to see Hanzo cackle with that dry humor of his. 

But not tonight. Tonight, McCree leans back against Hanzo’s chest, grunting occasionally when Hanzo digs his thumb into a knot in his forearm. McCree is half asleep, kept awake only by the needle-point numbness tingling at the end of his limb. He kept his prosthetic on too long today, and it wore him down. Hanzo holds him now, leaning back against their headboard while he tries to get the two of them ready for bed.

“You are a grown man, Jesse,” Hanzo chides. “You need to be able to do this yourself.”

“Yeah,” McCree mumbles sleepily, “But– ah,  _shit that hurts_ – your fingers’re so damn  _fine.”_

“And  _strong,”_ Hanzo says through gritted teeth, digging said strong fingers into the meat of McCree’s bicep. “Don’t forget strong.” He pats McCree’s arm fondly, then drags his ham of a free hand over to pointedly lay it next to McCree’s partial limb. “You can do this yourself, my love. I’m sure you are more than capable of figuring out the motions.”

“Yeah, yeah,” McCree says with a sigh. He sets to doing his stretches and checking his limb for any changes, as per Angela’s orders. Hanzo settles beside him, finished with his own routine for the night. “Y’know,” he muses, “I had a funny dream last night.”

Hanzo hums questioningly next to him, his eyes closed in half-slumber.

“Was missin’ the other arm instead,” McCree continued. “Confusin’ as all hell, I tell you. Threw me off something awful. Wanna know the weirdest part?”

“Yes?” Hanzo asks, still dozing. McCree throws him a fond look while he pulls out the lotion and proceeds to moisturize his residual limb. 

“I had all my freckles in order. Same moles, same dirt in the nail beds. Same crooked thumb, damn the thing. Couldn’t even get a decent clean-up for a single dream.”

Hanzo laughs, shifting further into their bed. His thigh knocks against McCree’s own comfortingly under the sheets.

“I once dreamed my legs were returned to me by a kind spirit, but they put them on backwards. Left on right and right on wrong.”

McCree snorts. He closes the cap on the lotion and tucks it away in a drawer, reclines in bed and signals for the lights to turn themselves off. In the dark, he arranges himself around Hanzo.

Before he winks off to sleep, he catches sight of a glow across the room: Hanzo’s soles glowing a soft blue in the night, mirrored by McCree’s own elbow. The weaponized attachments look a tad pedestrian like this, little more than nightlights glowing next to the wardrobe.

Two men missing three limbs between them. What’s left of their bodies is scarred and sutured and tucked up tight. Someday McCree will think of a proper joke, but tonight he finds that good humor is…well, good enough.

McCree might not know exactly what circumstances led to his arm going off the proverbial map…but if it ended with him here, sharing this nightly ritual with a man as confident in stride on metal legs as flesh, it couldn’t have been too terrible, in the end. 


	26. McHanzo: unrepentant fluff and care SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Can i request a short cute mchanzo story?? I was lied to by my ex-partner and i feel like shit, maybe one of them sincerely telling the other that they love them or something like that

Work tends to tear them apart, but here in their home, their threads weave back together. Their love is a tapestry, rich and woven with care.

It takes deliberate steps between the two of them: negotiated time dedicated to each other, compromises neither of them imagined. When you both work for an organization that can call you to the other side of the globe at the drop of a hat, you learn to cherish the smallest of moments. 

This is one such moment. They’re snugged up with each other in their bed, time apart having made them needy, a little touch-starved. They settle in for the night with an eagerness tempered by exhaustion, but reaching just the same.

“You know,” Hanzo says quietly, murmuring into Jesse’s shoulder, “For a long time I did not think I deserved you.”

“Yeah?” Jesse says. He’s sleepy beyond belief, cozied up in their bed in the blankets they picked out together, Hanzo spooned behind him.

“Yes,” Hanzo continues. His voice meets the meat of Jesse’s back and falls, comforting and clunky, into the space between them. “I thought…I thought that there must be some mistake, for you to love me back.”

There’s a bit of quiet, and then Jesse fumbles behind himself until he finds Hanzo’s hand and pulls it around his waist. Hanzo sighs and settles into the quiet contact, the soft squeeze of reassurance.

There’s a pregnant pause in the night, but it tapers off into the dark until Hanzo is almost sure that Jesse has fallen asleep despite his admission. Then:

“I never thought I would make it to twenty,” Jesse admits quietly. His voice rumbles in his chest as the lowest of whispers, and Hanzo can feel it in his hands more than his ears. “But then I made it to twenty-five, and thirty, and then– and then I met you.”

Hanzo pulls him a little closer, presses his forehead against the dip between Jesse’s shoulder blades.

“I used to be so– I didn’t think I’d live to see out my teens, if I’m bein’ honest.” His voice is rough, still a whisper, but edging on towards an admission. “When I was pulled out of gang life and into service, I thought for sure it was just trading out one death warrant for another.” He pauses. “But you make me want to live.”

Hanzo exhales heavily into McCree’s back. He reminds himself that he and Jesse are safe, tucked away in their home. That they have friends, and hobbies, and each other. Stability, at least in a loose sense of the word. 

“When we first…started…” Hanzo stumbles, pauses with the next words on the tip of his tongue. “I was in a similar place. A transient place. I could have been ended the next day, and it would not have mattered. But over time…” he pauses, rolls the words over in his mouth before he looses them into the world. “Days began to mean something– as markers, with significance and meaning. Events to be remembered and celebrated. Jesse: I love you. You make anniversaries something to look forward to.”

Jesse laughs softly, his chest rising with it. He clutches Hanzo’s hand one more time and shifts their legs so that they’re tangled together like two puzzle pieces. 

“I love you too,” he murmurs, drawing Hanzo’s hand up for a kiss. “Nothing could beat an eternity of this with you.”


	27. McHanzo: A/B/O somno and blowjobs NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Omega Hanzo is in his late 30s and in a desperate bid to attract a mate before his prime is over, his body has kicked into high gear. His scent is sultry and his heats is early AGAIN. he decides to hire a young alpha to mount and knot him to fool his body. They're both on birth control but Hanzo's hormones sent young Jesse into his most intense rut. They can't stop fucking. Cue very consensual somnophilia and over stimulation .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, it sure has been awhile since I've dumped anything on this fic collection. Enjoy! I might continue this particular one some more soon, honestly. I'm such a sucker for somno and A/B/O.

 

It was the third day of his heat, and Hanzo was exhausted. Every bone ached, from the curve of his rib cage to the smallest knuckles of his hands. He was covered in sweat and slick despite several showers, but overpowering it all was the rich, musky scent of potent alpha pheromones. The alpha he’d made arrangements with had treated him well so far, scenting at every opportunity and making sure Hanzo’s body– if not Hanzo– knew he was being  _thoroughly_ taken care of. 

He was nearing his 40′s, and though Hanzo had no desire to start a family, his body was making  _its_ desires plainly known.  _His body_  wanted him fat with children, resting easy while his mate provided for him. Hanzo, tired though he was, scoffed at the notion. He may have been covered in drying slick and spunk and god knew what else, but he was far from a baby factory. He’d ride out the increasingly-frequent heats for the next few years until the sweet bliss of menopause freed him at last. 

As Hanzo contemplated his future, a shape shifted in the mussed sheets next to him. It was the alpha he’d…well,  _hired_ was a strong word, but they’d made a mutually beneficial arrangement. Hanzo got fucked as hard as he could take it, and the alpha had someone to accommodate his moods and sex drive during his rut. They fit together like two spectacularly horny puzzle pieces.

“Oh, hey, sugarplum…” the alpha– Jesse– said sleepily. He wrapped one brawny arm around Hanzo’s waist, tugging the omega closer and nuzzling into the nape of his neck. “Hell of a night.” He kissed Hanzo’s shoulder lightly, mindful of the marks he’d already left in previous days. Hanzo sighed and rolled his shoulders, stretching luxuriously before settling back into Jesse’s embrace.

“Hell of a  _week_ ,” Hanzo corrected. “How much longer is left in your rut, do you think?”

“Prolly another couple days,” Jesse said absentmindedly. His hands started rubbing over Hanzo’s abdomen lightly, putting pressure on his taut stomach muscles just for the feel of it. “Why, you feeling a bit light on the heat?”

“No. I just want to make sure you can keep up,” Hanzo said impishly. 

“Hm. Well, you can count on me, darlin’.” And with that, Jesse relaxed back into the pillows, clutching Hanzo close as he did so. Hanzo sighed. The marathon fucking took a lot out of the alpha. He slept a lot whenever they weren’t busy– it had actually fallen to Hanzo at one point or another to find food for the two of them.  Taking care of each other during the mutual rut/heat combo had turned out to be a team effort.

If Jesse needed his rest, he’d get it. But Hanzo had his needs too. They’d already discussed it– “starting without each other” so to speak– and Hanzo thought he was finally ready to try it.

Grinding back into the alpha’s shape behind him, Hanzo took in a shallow breath as he felt Jesse react to his movements and smell. The room was thick with pheromones and the scent of their coupling, unmistakable for anything else. Even the sheets reeked, and Hanzo stuffed his face into one pillow now and inhaled deeply. It smelled like Jesse’s shampoo from when the alpha had rested his head there while Hanzo had ridden him like his life depended on it. 

Hanzo groaned softly, mouthing at the pillow and slipping one hand over Jesse’s own on his stomach. He guided the alpha’s hand slowly, bringing it up to rest on Hanzo’s chest, his thick fingers just brushing his sensitive nipple. Jesse’s hand twitched in sleep, reflexively reacting to the new sensation.

Hanzo shivered under his touch and pressed his hips back, determined to keep  their marathon going. He could feel slick pooling between his legs again, hot and slippery, marking him as ripe for the taking. Jesse seemed amenable to just about anything Hanzo wanted to do. This would be no different. 

“Mm…Han…” Jesse shifted behind him, cuddling ever closer even as he slept. Hanzo held his breath: he could feel Jesse’s body reacting behind him, cock stiffening as the alpha twined himself around Hanzo’s body. 

Hanzo downright whimpered when Jesse rolled into him, lazily rutting into the cleft of his cheeks, the velvety soft skin of his length hot and slick with precum. It slipped through the mess he’d already left behind– copious slick from Hanzo and more than a few loads of his spend made for a sloppy slide. Hanzo groaned and ducked his chin, breath shallow. He let Jesse rut lazily for a few minutes, hoping beyond hope that perhaps his fat cockhead would just slip into his loosened hole and Hanzo wouldn’t have to do any of the work after all.

No such luck. After a long while the alpha’s hips stilled, his breathing even. Hanzo huffed unhappily and reach behind himself to stroke his prize. Jesse rumbled happily in his sleep. Encouraged, Hanzo rolled over to face the man he’d agreed to spend he week with. Jesse was a bear of a man, burly and hairy all over– every inch the alpha. Hanzo nuzzled the hair on his barrel chest while he cupped the alpha’s heavy balls, savoring the weight in his grip. Jesse moaned a little in his sleep, letting out a quiet “Yeah….” when Hanzo leaned in to suck a mark into the skin of his exposed shoulder. 

Hanzo let himself peek at the thing he craved: Jesse’s cock was long, uncut, and thicker than Hanzo had taken before. The knot alone made him feel like he was destined to unravel every time it hit home inside him, filling him to the brim and  _keeping_ him full. That was the important part. Hanzo’s body wanted a baby, even if he didn’t. Jesse’s cock– his wonderful, beautiful, satisfying cock– was everything he needed. 

And yet– Hanzo hesitated. He may have been horny, but he was still somewhat satisfied, his hormones acknowledging the devoted attempts Jesse had already made on his body. Something in him still made him want to jump the alpha, though. He eyed Jesse’s dick hungrily, letting the blushing red head rub over his inner arm as he slowly stroked it. It left a shiny trail of precum behind, dripping down over the delicate bones of his wrist as he worked. Hanzo took his hand away for just a moment to taste– then had an idea.

He shuffled down the bed to nuzzle at Jesse’s hairy groin. He ran his hands against the grain of  the alpha’s thick body hair, inhaling Jesse’s musky scent– and a hint of his own running through it, particularly down  _here_. Hanzo grinned wolfishly. He’d certainly enjoy  _that_ knowledge for awhile. 

He sucked delicately at the base of Jesse’s dick, licking the underside of the bulbous curve of his knot, smaller now but still noticeable, always on half-alert while the alpha was in rut. Jesse shufted under his touch, rumbling deep in his chest. The rumbling turned to weak little whimpers when Hanzo dragged the wet, velvety length of his tongue up the shaft, digging under the foreskin to rub right into Jesse’s glans. Hanzo was rewarded with a fat string of precum for that trick, and he sucked it down eagerly, finally closing his lips over the flushed head of Jesse’s cock. 

Hanzo bobbed on it eagerly, relaxing his jaw and swallowing as much as he could. This precum was sweeter than other loads, not nearly as thick and overpowering as the other times Hanzo had had Jesse’s cum near his face. Hanzo swallowed it with glee, daring himself to take Jesse deeper each time he lowered himself. He settled happily when he got to the alpha’s knot, the growing swell of it stretching Hanzo’s lips to their full potential. 

Hanzo’s throat contracted as he swallowed reflexively, and Jesse whimpered, his hands twitching where they curled by his head. Hanzo looked up: the alpha’s eyes were flickering wildly under his eyelids, the small muscles of his abdomen twitching every time Hanzo so much as flared his nostrils. Hanzo hummed happily and sunk down further, engulfing Jesse’s knot in his mouth and sucking as hard as he dared. 

Jesse’s hips all but shot off the sheets as he came violently, shooting right down Hanzo’s throat. Hanzo nearly gagged and pulled off, but he caught himself just in time to take a thick shot of cum to the face. He closed his eyes and nuzzled at Jesse’s dick, kissing the hard swell of his knot like it was Jesse himself. He kissed and sucked it, rubbing and squeezing the bump until it seemed like Jesse could come no more.

Jesse’s chest heaved, and yet still he slept. Hanzo licked his lips– covered in a  thick layer of cum, he felt with satisfaction– then resumed his quest. He kept working Jesse’s cock, carefully now so as not to hurt him. It was still dribbling here and there, stray droplets rolling down the shaft every now and then as Hanzo made a mess of his hands. He wasn’t going soft– that’d be the rut, Hanzo supposed– and Hanzo was suddenly curious. How long  _could_ Jesse go? They hadn’t tested it yet, not really.

Hanzo reached beteween his legs to gather some of his own slick– whimpering at how sensitive the display had already made him– and reached between Jesse’s legs again. Slipping under the fat weight of his balls, Hanzo worked a finger into Jesse’s tight hole. Still working his length in one slippery hand. Hanzo began to massage at the alpha’s inner walls, thrusting forward just enough to find– ah, there it was. Jesse’s cock jumped in Hanzo’s hand, spitting out another shiny line of pre. 

Jesse whined pitifully in his sleep, but he spread his knees incrementally, and that was enough for Hanzo. The omega bent his head to his task again, working one arm as he curled and twisted his fingers inside his accomplice. He couldn’t help a delirious little chuckle– watching alphas fall apart at a little fingering was always somewhat funny– but he sighed and happily mouthed at Jesse’s knot when every prod at his prostate brought forth another twitch or rope of cum.


	28. Symmpharah: insecurities, cuddling SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original prompt: How about Satya and Fareeha waking up together and saying I love you for the first time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen....listen. I love Symmpharah. I love them. They're perfect.

Fareeha wakes in the middle of the night to a faint shuffling sound and the clear sound of someone having stubbed their toe. 

“Satya…?” she murmurs sleepily. She squints across the room: the clock reads 2:38, much too early for anything.

“Apologies,” Satya says quickly. “I thought…I thought to leave before you woke. I did not mean to fall asleep so deeply.”

Fareeha sits up in the dark, puzzled expression on her face that she knows Satya won’t be able to see. She slaps around on the table for the lamp, but before she can find the switch her– her girlfriend, maybe?– blinks something on her arm and produces a small sphere of hardlight, glowing a soft, dim blue in what Fareeha has come to think of as ‘their’ bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Fareeha says, blinking against the sudden brightness. “Did you have a mission on the roster? Did I forget something again?”

Satya stiffly shakes her head, refusing to make eye contact. At this point Fareeha knows it’s not personal– just another quirk of the architech’s she’s come to find endearing. “I thought you might want your space back. I will return to my room. We can have breakfast together tomorrow.”

“Wait. Hold on. Why would you leave? This is your space too.”

“I still have my own quarters assigned. It would be rude for me to take over yours, too.” She gestures around. The sphere moves with her, illuminating the matchbox of a suite. “And I did not think you would want me here in the morning. I look awful.”

Fareeha looks at her with a queer look on her face, surprise evident by raised eyebrows. She reaches out her hand. “Come back to bed,” she says softly. “I want you here. I like you in the morning.”

Satya looks positively frustrated now. Her eyebrows draw down in a scowl, free hand clenched at her side. “You have never seen me before…before I clean myself up.”

“I’ve seen you fresh from combat and in hospital scrubs. It can’t be worse than that. Come here,  _habibi_.”

Satya reluctantly returns, sitting gracefully on the bed and smoothing her sleepwear. The shorts are shorter than Fareeha expected she would wear, borrowed from Fareeha’s own drawers. Somehow Satya manages to make even her old basketball shorts look sophisticated.

Satya slowly maneuvers herself back under the still-warm sheets, moving around until she is on her side, stiffly turned away. Her shoulders are tense, drawn up to her ears. Fareeha lays a hand on her back, rubbing soothingly until Satya begins to relax. Then she quietly, without fanfare, curls up behind her. She doesn’t sling an arm around her– Satya finds it too confining, too much contact– but she rests her forehead between her shoulder blades and closes her eyes.

“This is your space too,” she repeats. “I want you to feel comfortable. What can I do to convince you?” 

“Let me set an alarm to clean up before you can see me in the morning.”

Fareeha lets out a deep sigh. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll blindfold myself until you say it’s safe to wake up. Just know that I love you no matter how disheveled you look. I’ll even like your morning breath, probably. You know I’m head over heels for you, right?”

Suddenly, the stiff shoulders are back. Satya tears herself away, sitting up abruptly. The tiniest lights play on her arm, a sure sign her heart rate has jumped.

“I–” She swallows. “What?”

Fareeha puts a hand on her thigh and looks up at her with a soft expression. “Yeah.  _Ana bahebak, habibi_. I love you. I thought you knew.”

“I…I thought perhaps…maybe…”

“Did you think I’d kick you out in the middle of the night? No. Do you know how many times I’ve woken to an empty bed wishing I had you there? You’re quite comfortable to sleep by, you know. Very pretty.” She gestures to her face. “You lose the little winkle between your eyebrows, and sometimes you put out the faintest little noise, like you’re dreaming something interesting.”

“I…see.” She slowly, almost too slowly, and lays back down. Fareeha pulls the covers back over them. This time, Satya is facing her, hands curled up by her chest. The hardlight still floats above them, faintly illuminating their faces. Satya’s expression looks conflicted, her mouth firm and small in concentration. Fareeha blinks heavily and sighs.

“I’d have you sleep here every night, if I could.”

“No going back to my own bed?” She looks thoughtful, eyes downcast into the dark of the gap between them under the sheets. 

“No,” Fareeha says firmly. “No, I don’t think so.”

Satya slowly shuffles closer until their knuckles brush against each other. Then, surprise of all surprises, she entwines their fingers. It’s such a gentle gesture, and yet extremely forward coming from the touch-averted woman. 

“I don’t know how to say it in the language I had before Vishkar picked me up,” Satya says quietly. “But I love you too.” She leans forward and kisses Fareeha not on the lips, but on the forehead, tender and gentle. Then she makes the gesture that puts the light out and settles into her pillow. 

Fareeha sighs happily. Perhaps in the morning she can show Satya the joys of a shared morning routine. But right now, at what the clock says is only a scant few minutes after she woke up, she’s content in the full, heavy darkness that drapes over them. Eventually she hears Satya drop off into slow, deep breaths, and after smoothing a line out of her girlfriend’s forehead with her thumb, she closes her eyes and follows.


	29. Two Cakes (SFW, Genyatta fluff w/ Shimada Bros)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji contemplates Christmas cakes at three times in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a holiday gift for the Shipwatch Secret Santa! I'm glad you liked this, Silver. <3

I.

Genji stares at the glass case in front of him with saucer-wide eyes, his gaze ravenous. His tongue just barely peeks out of his mouth as his eyes dart back and forth from treat to treat. 

“Can’t we just get all of them?” He whines. “Father will give us the money.”

“No,” Hanzo says sternly, though his look is equally longing. His hands are clenched in his pockets, his puffy coat zipped right up to his chin. “We were told to choose  _one_ cake, Genji.”

Genji makes a small noise of protest in his throat, hopping from foot to foot in the cold as he stares at the shop window. 

“Please, Hanzo? Please? I’ll– I’ll give you the drumstick.” Like many Japanese families, the Shimadas gave in to tradition and bought a bucket of fried chicken and a cake on Christmas eve– and Hanzo was always a sucker for dark meat. 

Hanzo seems to consider, and then–- taking Genji’s hand, they duck into the store together. Ten and eight years old; old enough to make a trip to the store on their own. Hanzo holds Genji’s hand the whole time they stand in line. The wait is long–- many people are buying treats for their families tonight-– but the bakery is warm and the lamps inside cast a comforting glow on their faces.

When they finally get up to the counter, the shop girl leans over to smile at them, clearly amused by the picture they make together, small and red-cheeked. 

“What would you boys like?” she asks. 

Hanzo nudges Genji. “You choose,” he urges. 

“We want…” Genji hesitates. He points at a fat, fluffy Swiss roll full of cream and topped with strawberries. “That one.” Turning to Hanzo, he smiles. “Mother likes strawberries! Maybe if we get that one she’ll eat with us.”

As the shop girl boxes up their choice, she tempts them one last time. “Will that be all?” 

Genji stares at Hanzo, who stares hard at his palmful of folding bills, doing the math. 

“And two cream puffs, please.” Turning to Genji, he said seriously, “We don’t have enough money. But one day– two cakes.”

II.

“Where is the cake?”

Genji is decked out in red and green lights, cleverly (dangerously and ill-advisedly) plugged into his own outlets, and has thus far enjoyed being the greatest spectacle of the “Non-denominational Winter Party” Overwatch and Blackwatch had thrown together. 

McCree, dressed in some kind of last-century-themed costume, points with his fork to a table on the other side of the room. “Over there, Robocop,” he calls through a mouthful of Angela’s latkes. “I think there’s cookies. Rein made a fruit cake if you’re feeling brave.”

“No, the  _cake_ ,” Genji insists. “A roll cake or– whipped cream? None of this heavy sugar nonsense.” 

McCree shrugs. “It’s what we got, pal.”

Gabe sidles up to the two of them, festive as anyone with a glittery red Santa hat atop his shaved head. Some of the glitter has flaked off and fallen to catch in the man’s beard. 

“You should have gone and baked one if you wanted a cake. Angela brought latkes, Ana hung the decorations, Rein brought  _sort of_ a cake, and McCree…” Gabe squints. “Hey, McCree? What  _did_ you bring?”

“My sweet ass!” McCree snarks back. “And a pitcher of eggnog. Heavy on the  _nog_ , of course.”

“A shame,” Genji says blandly. “Perhaps next year I will bring my own sweets. I find that the new taste sensors given to me are…quite sensitive. Most things are overpowering.”

McCree, now standing in their makeshift little group, bumps Genji amiably with his shoulder. “Next year, huh?” His grin looks like it’d split his face if it was any wider.

Gabe smiles too, though it’s more subtle. “You thinking of sticking around?”

“Yes,” Genji says, smiling despite himself. “And next year, we will have two cakes.”

III.

Christmas in Japan is for lovers. Christmas in America is for family. Christmas at Overwatch had been for friends, but with that blown to smithereens, Genji has been at a loss. Zenyatta had guided Genji around the continent all year, through hot weather and howling gales, until they’d made their way back to the secluded mountain temple the Shambali called home. With the holidays fast approaching, Genji has been unsure how to broach the topic.

Now Genji sits at a small lap desk with half-written letters in front of him. They’re all addressed to important people, though his most important person is just outside the room he sits in now, likely making mischief with the local, braver wildlife. 

Indeed, Genji hears muffled, electric laughter even has he finishes his latest missive. 

“Zen?” He peers out the open sliding door into the courtyard beyond. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, Genji,” Zenyatta says, laughing even as he floats in the midst of a flock of indignant birds. “My little friends were just expressing their displeasure at my intrusion.” 

Genji brings one hand up to cover his smile. One bird has alighted on the monk’s shoulder and is now plucking at an exposed wire like it’s a long-desired delicacy. “Careful, or they may make you their new winter residence.”

Zen chuckles– a low sound that makes his display flutter hot yellow– and settles on the ground. The snow melts beneath his overworked chassis. “I am sure I would be warmer than the rest of the brush,” he says lightly.

“Indeed,” Genji says, motioning him closer. “In fact, I think I would appreciate you more than the birds do. You should come inside– this temple is drafty.”

Zenyatta floats gently to the door, and Genji slides it shut behind them. The birds chirp just beyond the glass, but Genji, for all his man-made parts, is happy to have a barrier between him and the bitter Nepal winter.

“Ah, much better,” Genji says, sighing in content. He settles back onto the cushion he’d been seated at before, swiping his letters aside. The most important one was sent weeks ago– the rest are trivial holiday greetings. “What have the monks planned for the new year?”

“Nothing big,” Zenyatta says, leaning on Genji for support. His fans whir with a gentle hum that calms Genji’s shaking hands. Genji leans right back into him, glad for the warmth and simple touch. “We are not partial to fanfare, and have no need for material goods. But perhaps…company.”

At that moment, Genji hears a soft footfall behind them. Genji pauses for a moment before turning. In that split second he contemplates the schism: one one side, a tender embrace, serene silence, homey comfort. On the other…something wholly unfamiliar.

In the end, he turns. And there is Hanzo: red-cheeked, bundled heavily, and holding two boxes in his arms. 

“A gift for you,” Hanzo says stiffly. He thrusts the boxes at Genji without further greeting. Genji stands, staring at his brother with a dumbfounded expression on his face, before taking the boxes with a bow.

“Two cakes, Hanzo?” He smiles, and if there is a hint of wetness at the corners of his eyes, he is sure no one will blame him. “What would father say?”

“That it is time we got what we want,” Hanzo says with finality, and hugs him.


	30. McHanzo: drinking together, SFW

Hanzo’s teeth are tinted startlingly dark, and all Jesse wants to do is lick the stain off them.

The wine they’ve been sampling for hours is something rich and full-bodied, spicy with an after taste of old leather, and it makes Jesse want to lay his body flush with Hanzo’s just to feel their blood rushing in tandem. He may have had a little too much of it, but that also means he’s had too much to ruminate on quantities for very long. Instead the gunslinger focuses on Hanzo’s hands around his wineglass, on the delicate sips and the considering swishes of beverage in his mouth. Jesse watches Hanzo’s throat work as the swig of wine flows down his neck, sees his chest expand with a great sigh of satisfaction.

Hanzo laughs, and his teeth, berry-dark and straight as a grid, stand in sharp contrast to the black of his beard and in warm comparison to his loam-hued eyes. Jesse stares, entranced, and feels his body move of its own accord: slow, heavy, deliberate.

Jesse leans on his fist as lazily as a bluebottle in summer, eyes heavy-lidded and dark with interest. His right hand, usually so precise, hovers just at the horizon of Hanzo’s shoulder. He can feel the heat radiating from Hanzo’s back, can almost taste the salt from drinksweat on his tongue. He spends a brief minute fantasizing about black stubble under his tongue and the planes of Hanzo’s back pressed against his chest. Of hair mussed from sleep and exertion.

Hanzo turns, and his eyes flash. They’re dark and deep and lovely beyond measure. And they know.


	31. McHanzo: insomnia, SFW

It’s the middle of the night, and once again, Hanzo is deep in the throes of insomnia. This is the kind of blank exhaustion that has plagued him since long before he left the clan. This is an insomnia Hanzo welcomes back like a loyal pest.

The exhaustion settles over him like a shroud, dry and scratchy against his skin. His eyes burn from being open for too long. What does he stare at? He’s not honestly sure. He should look at his husband next to him, or perhaps the moon outside. He can hear their cat wandering through the house on a nighttime stroll, but instead of investigating, Hanzo blinks blankly up at the ceiling and prays for an end to the infinite hours between now and sunup.

Just as Hanzo is beginning to contemplate getting a glass of water just to occupy his hands, Jesse stirs next to him, grumbling and snorting himself awake. Suddenly there’s a hand thwapping blindly at the sheets before smacking Hanzo in the chest. He startles, but doesn’t move. The hand slides over Hanzo’s skin until fingers meet the curve of Hanzo’s shoulder, and then suddenly Hanzo is no longer awake in solitude, but held securely by someone he loves. He relaxes minutely.

“Y’ still up?” Jesse murmurs blearily. “’S like…three a.m. or somethin’, Han…”

“Only two,” Hanzo says wistfully, bringing his own hand up to close over his husband’s. “Go back to sleep, my love.”

“Not without you,” Jesse says through a yawn. He pulls Hanzo closer, settling his cheek against the curve of Hanzo’s bicep. He looks up at Hanzo with soft eyes– understanding eyes. “Nightmares woke you up?”

“Never fell asleep,” Hanzo admits. 

“Well shit, sweetheart, you should have woke me. Turn over.”

“No, no,” Hanzo protests. He’s too tired to stress himself out any further by adding “woke Jesse up” to his list of faults. “Rest, Jesse.”

“Nah,” Jesse sighs. “I’d rather be up with you than asleep alone. Turn over, honey.”

At Jesse’s insistence, Hanzo does turn, surprised at how heavy his body has gotten just by laying still. The cool air feels marvelous on his sweaty back, and he sighs a little before settling back into his pillow. Behind him, the bed groans as Jesse sits up a little, rolling over to face Hanzo entirely. 

Hanzo breathes easier when Jesse’s wide hand first rubs over his shoulder. The strokes are broad, but his palm is dry and warm and rough from work, and he digs into all the knots Hanzo never knew he had. Jesse presses his fingertips into the tension that mars Hanzo’s back and rubs a long, langorous path up and down his spine. Before he knows it, Hanzo has closed his eyes in relief and is blankly following the pace of Jesse’s backrub with his own breath. 

Up from lower back to the nape of his neck. Inhale. Across from shoulder to shoulder. Exhale. Back down to his hip, thumb digging into the knot at the small of his back. Inhale. Over his hip, angling around his stomach. Exhale. 

Jesse shifts quietly to drape himself over Hanzo in their bed, kisses his husband’s back once, and smiles sleepily as Hanzo lets out a single, sleep-heavy sigh, finally gone to dreams.


	32. McHanzo: seeking shelter SFW

They’re somewhere in the outskirts of Detroit. The trees are thick, and though Hanzo and McCree have lost their enemy omnic tail– exploded them into tiny metal splinters, in fact– this nevertheless leaves them running on fumes and in sore need of somewhere to lay low until Tracer can find them a pickup.

It’s Hanzo who sees the treehouse first.

Dilapidated in the way abandoned things are, the structure was clearly once built and maintained with care. Its materials are a combination of man-made woodlike material and plastics, all nailed and screwed together with precision that makes McCree whistle in appreciation.

“Woulda killed for one of these as a kid,” he says as they scout the undergrowth for evidence of a way up. “Never did have these big types of trees where I’m from, though.”

“No?” Hanzo chats, poking at roots. He peers at the tree with a sharp glint in his eyes, calculating handholds and height. Its dark, leafy foliage is only going darker with the setting sun, and he can’t quite see what he needs to see. “No tiny saloons for a pint-sized cowboy to defend with his nerf gun?”

“Nah,” McCree laughs quietly. “Got my hands on the real thing too quick to enjoy a good imitation when I saw one.” The line of his mouth turns grim for a split second before he carries on. “Now, paintball– had myself a hell of a summer the year I turned eleven. Mottled blue and purple like some kinda jelly bag, and ruined all my clothes to boot. Ma weren’t too happy about that.”

“Genji and I used to spar with unguarded blades,” Hanzo murmurs. He stares at a quavering branch. Will it hold his weight? “You should have seen some of the predicaments we got into with those.”

“No kiddin’? Oh, shit yeah– found a rope!”

And a good thing, too, for it’s beginning to rain. McCree tugs the rope once, and it seems to hold. He scampers up with more grace than Hanzo expected, popping his head into the treehouse and promptly shrieking. Hanzo immediately grapples his way up the tree, hopping from branch to branch like a very muscular squirrel. He makes it up to the structure just in time for a raccoon to launch itself out the window next to him.

McCree, a little worse for the wear, stares at him with wide eyes from the trap door. Only half his torso is in the little room– the other half still dangles. His hat is askew, and a few scratches litter his face. His eyes are wide.

“Little, uh, little guy was makin’ himself at home, I guess,” he says breathlessly.

There’s a pause, and then all at once Hanzo is bellowing with laughter, straight from the gut and resoundingly sincere. He clambers through the window and hauls McCree (who makes a noise of surprise at being manhandled) up into safety and closes the trapdoor. McCree starts to laugh too, chuckling even as he plops down a biotic field to give them some light and much-needed regeneration. 

One night won’t kill them. If they can fend off omnics  _and_ a raccoon in one night, they can deal with anything.


	33. McHanzo: cuddling, afterglow SFW

If there’s anything Hanzo loves best, it’s the afterglow: when he and Jesse are worn out to the point that they simply drop to the sheets, Hanzo sighs long and heavy, content at last. When his muscles ache pleasantly and he can feel his bones turn to jelly; when he feels full of sunshine right down to the tips of his toes. That’s what he loves best. 

His favorite thing about the afterglow is that he and Jesse wore each  _other_ out. It wasn’t travel, it wasn’t terrorism, it wasn’t manual labor or injury; no, just simple affection taken to a physical extreme. They sure gave the bed frame a rattling, that’s for sure. Hanzo is sure that it will never be quite the same again after the shaking and bouncing it endured. 

But Hanzo can deal with a squeaky bed frame as long as Jesse’s the one he’s sharing it with. 

Indeed, the frame protests a little even now, creaking just slightly as Hanzo scoots closer to Jesse’s sleeping frame, sprawled over the sheets. The sheen of sweat over both of them dried long ago, and now the cool night air is setting in. Hanzo grabs their comforter and drags it up over them before draping himself over Jesse’s torso, arms wrapped tight. He can feel the steel cage of Jesse’s ribs expand under him, softened just enough that Hanzo can happily make it his pillow. The hair might tickle his nose, but it’s warm and comfortable all the same. 

Jesse shifts– he must still be riding the fine line between awake and sleeping– and rolls slightly towards Hanzo. They tangle their legs together, slotting knee within knee, ankle to ankle, and tighten their hold on each other.

No travel, no terrorism. No manual labor. No injuries. They count their blessings and bask in their shared warmth before slipping off to dreams.


	34. McHanzo: getting caught in the act, NSFW

“Mmm, yeah, that’s it,” Jesse murmurs against Hanzo’s skin. He barely has space to mumble the words, lips dragging plush and slick against Hanzo’s hipbone. The blankets dragged over Jesse’s head keep everything dark and humid, the only light a faint halo that perfectly frames Hanzo’s abs in front of him. Jesse traces them with his tongue just to feel Hanzo shake under him, muscles twitching, thighs trembling. 

Jesse occupies his hands by holding Hanzo’s legs, hoisting them over his shoulders so he can get a better angle. He dips down low to nose as Hanzo’s sac, placing tender kisses and pressing the sensitive skin with his tongue, barely sucking one ball into his mouth before releasing it and going after the other one. His movements are agonizingly slow, thorough beyond measure. If Hanzo’s moans are anything to go by, his efforts are well worth it. Jesse can imagine it now: Hanzo with one bicep thrown over his face, biting shamelessly at his own skin so he doesn’t make so much noise that he earns another reprimand from their neighbors down the hall. 

Yet still he does make noise, groaning and grunting in time with the wet kisses and slurps Jesse lays on his dick. Jesse traces a vein with his tongue, following the velvety skin up to the slick head of Hanzo’s cock, and before Hanzo can fully mute himself Jesse swallows him down. Mouth delightfully full, Jesse reaches one arm out from under the covers to tweak Hanzo’s nipple– Hanzo jerks under him, shoving further into Jesse’s throat and creating a feedback loop that’s sure to get them a scolding from Winston later. 

Jesse breathes through his nose and flexes his throat muscles, sucking as hard as he can while he pulls back. He tongues the dribbling slit of Hanzo’s cock as if he wants to get every drop of cum he can out of it, and then back down he goes.

And then– 

Loud knocking on the door– banging, really– and Genji’s voice interrupts them. Jesse freezes, cock still hard on his palate. 

“Brother, are you ready yet?” 

Hanzo is as still as a corpse above Jesse. His chest is extraordinarily still under Jesse’s hand, though his dick still throbs in the wet clutch of Jesse’s mouth. the blanket muffles everything.

“I– er– yes, Genji. I will be only a, uh, a moment.”

“Are you well? You don’t sound like yourself, Hanzo.”

“I’m fine!” Hanzo says, an edge of panic in his voice. “Don’t come in.”

“Haha, why, do you have someone in there with you?” A pause. “You…don’t, do you?”

And then another voice. It’s Hana, practically squealing. 

“Genji, he  _does_. Oh my god. We need to leave  _now._ ”

Jesse swallows around Hanzo’s dick in his mouth. Hanzo’s hand shoots under the blankets to grab his hair, holding him still– though he doesn’t remove Jesse entirely.

“Okay, Hanzo, we’ll just– see you later–”

Sounds of people leaving. Jesse can’t help it. He drops Hanzo’s wet, red cock so that it bobs in front of him, yanks the blankets off from over his head, and yells:

“See ya, Genji!”

The muffled screams of brotherly horror are worth it.


	35. McHanzo: midnight snack, SFW

“You keep that up and you’re gonna spoil your– uh– breakfast?” 

Hanzo starts and jumps, bumping his head on the top of the refrigerator’s interior with a yelp. When he pulls his face away from the cold fluorescent glow, Jesse is standing in his flannel pants and worn shirt in the entrance to the kitchen, lit only by the glow of the open fridge.

Hanzo squints at him ruefully and continues to chew on the mouthful of cold bulgogi in his mouth. Swallowing, he retorts. “I will risk it.”

“Ain’t that Hana’s, anyhow? She’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

He takes another bite. “I will  _risk_ it. I needed something to settle my stomach.”

Jesse steps a little closer, but instead of closing the fridge door, he reaches for a glass and begins to fill it from the sink.

“Suit yourself, sweetpea. I just didn’t think you were a fan of five a.m. acid reflux.”

“Neither am I a fan of  _three_ a.m. hunger pains.”

Jesse leans against the counter sipping his water. Hanzo shuffles on the linoleum with his ill-gotten meat and tries to think of something to say. The kitchen is dark without the light from the fridge, and Jesse is uncharacteristically quiet. Hanzo doesn’t know what to say. In lieu of making an effort, he chews on his food and flexes his toes, trying to shake the uneasiness out of his bones.

“You know,” Jesse says quietly, between sips of water, “If you ever…need to talk or whatever. I’m usually up ‘round now.”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow and  continues eating. 

“Insomnia,” Jesse clarifies. “Ain’t never met a night I slept all the way through without a stomach full of whiskey or pills.”

Hanzo winces. “I am not a fan of either.”

Jesse hums in agreement, finishes his water, and sets the glass in the sink. Before he walks away, he gives Hanzo a small pat on the back; his hand lingers just a fraction too long for it to be just friendly, and Hanzo, despite his irritable midnight mood, finds his stomach fluttering pleasantly. 

“See you in the morning,” Jesse murmurs. With that, he leaves the kitchen, quiet for lack of spurs and leather, soft cotton and needed rest muffling his steps. 

“See you,” Hanzo says to an empty kitchen. He finishes his snack and makes his way back to bed, mind full of food for thought.


	36. McHanzo: a love bite, NSFW

“Ooh, yikes. That’s gonna leave a mark.” Jesse winces sympathetically, brushing the growing red mark on Hanzo’s neck with his thumb. Hanzo flinches when the pad of the finger slides over his split-slick, swollen skin. “Didn’t realize how hard I was bitin’, I guess.”

“It is fine,” Hanzo says, shifting in the sheets under Jesse and stretching luxuriously. “I like it.” Jesse’s hand still lingers on his throat, though it’s slowly making its way down his torso, dragging with purpose until Jesse’s palm rests on Hanzo’s hip. 

“I  _bet_ you do,” Jesse says with a grin. He leans back in to press his lips to the unmarred skin around the growing hickey. The tendons of Hanzo’s neck stick out as Hanzo tips his head back into the sturdy pillows once more, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. It’s half a moan, faint and breathy. His throat bobs as Jesse breaths in the scent of exertion and pleasure, licks along the line of teeth indents that are just now receding.

Hanzo shifts his bare legs restlessly under the sheets, reveling in their cool, smooth expanse against his skin. He feels loose, and yet more than present: every squeeze of Jesse’s skin across his own, every mingled breath and every tangle of their limbs, brings to him a new awareness of his body. He’s  _present_ in his skin, has control over his hands.

He wraps his arms around Jesse’s broad back, savoring the scars and layer of fat under his hands, and tugs Jesse closer, tangles their legs together. 

“I made a good decision last night,” Hanzo murmurs, feeling his throat expand and vibrate against the jut of Jesse’s jawline where the cowboy is still kissing the junction of Hanzo’s shoulder and neck. “I intend to repeat it.”


	37. Genyatta: magnets, drunken kiss, SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji and Zen play with magnets.

“You may bring it closer.” Zenyatta’s display flickers gold with excitement as he leans towards Genji, intimately close. His voice is steady despite the clear excitement in his posture. “Hold it closer, Genji. Tha– taaat– aaatah’s ii-it.” 

“Are you sure this is safe, Zen?” Genji says. His words are those of concern, but his tone– and the matching expression on his face– is of blatant curiosity. The industrial magnet in Genji’s hand is a solid weight against his palm, which sweats with nerves. 

“S– s-safe? Perhaps not,” Zenyatta says, his display blinking dim for a fraction of a second before resuming normal brightness. “Try again.”

Genji and Zenyatta are safe on base, bundled up in their rooms with the window propped open a crack to allow Zenyatta’s processors to remain cool despite the fact that the heat is on for the season. A biting ribbon of cold air flows through the room as Genji slowly brings the block of metal closer to Zenyatta’s core once more. His face is pink beneath the scars, his hand hesitant. 

“Oo–ohuhh, th-thatt-t-t-t is very niccccce,” Zenyatta sighs, his voice all static. He droops against Genji, frame rasping against Genji’s synthetic tissues. Genji sets the magnet down on the ground a decent distance away and runs a hand down Zenyatta’s side. He’s warm despite the cool air from the open window, his fans working double-time against the new sensations.

“What does it feel like?” Genji murmurs the words and pets Zenyatta’s side, up and down, over the knobbly textures of corded wires and pistons. Zenyatta looks more relaxed than Genji has seen him in a long time– this is not the purposeful, upright posture of one who is relaxed by design. No, this is…something else entirely.  It makes Genji want to rub his cheek along the scuffed surface of Zenyatta’s face plate, to press warm pecks along the seam of his mouth-shape.

“Hm…” Zenyatta muses. “Warm. Disorienting, like my GPS services or my gyroscope were badly in need of calibration.” He sighs again as Genji squeezes the omnic’s shoulder, tugging him closer. They tumble to the floor, laughing– Zenyatta is much heavier than he looks– and the magnet instantly flies over and sticks itself to Genji’s leg.

“Wh– hey!” Genji sits up, but he’s dizzy, still giggling. “I can’t feel my leg.”

“That is normal,” Zenyatta assures him, his voice thick with relaxation. It’s the voice of one whose body feels more pliant than usual. His words rise and fall in volume irregularly, off-pattern. “Pull it off and wait a few minutes. I would not be surprised if you were affected somewhat by the magnetic fields in certain manufactured parts of your body.”

Genji does as he’s told and throws the magnet across the room just in case, then flops back onto the floor, offline leg and all. Their mediation cushions are nearby, and Genji pulls them closer, then wraps himself in with Zenyatta’s lanky body. They look at each other and sigh. The world spins around him, and so he pulls the omnic closer, savoring the contrast of Zenyatta’s heated metal against the breeze from the window.

“How long will it last?” He asks at last.

“A few more minutes, perhaps,” Is Zenyatta’s quiet reply. His voice still wobbles in pitch and volume. “Enjoy it.”

Genji stares at Zenyatta with soft eyes, enjoying the warm golden glow of his display and the bulk of his form against Genji’s own. He presses a kiss to Zen’s face plate, right below his lights, and settles back into the pillows.


	38. McHanzo/Spirit Dragons Orgy NSFW (long)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo's dragons manifest as horrible, sexy dreams that torment McCree until he and Hanzo actually hook up-- then they torment BOTH of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a wild ride and fun to write. I'd love to write Hanzo's end of it someday lmao.

Original post: 

 

# Q

So what if Hanzo's dragons could materialize in any size and form and Hanzo could actually see and FEEL what they feel. What if he in his desperation and complete denial of him WANTING McCree sends his dragons to him at night. McCree thinking he is just having some sort of really kinky dream is totally not averse to having some dream sex with DRAGONS because they remind him of Hanzo. Hanzo doesn't dare approach McCree himself but he allows himself this, feelings his dragons' ecstasy as his own.

# A

 

aw HECK man this is PRIME CHOICE MATERIAL 

* * *

 

Jesse was somewhere hazy. He’d been dozing in the rec room, half-watching tv while a storm raged outside. It had been late at night, and as he had been trying to give up the late-night drinking, television had seemed as good a vice as any. And indeed it had gotten him to start nodding off, head dipping ever lower. 

But now he was in a mass of clouds, against a great wall of heat and rock that swayed against him. The wind blew fiercely around him, whipping his hair against his face. There was lightning, too, but it flashed and crackled just out of reach. Somehow Jesse knew it wouldn’t come close enough to hurt him.

The weight at his back shifted, and suddenly Jesse realized that it was no rock behind him, but instead a massive, stone-blue dragon, glowing ethereally through the spaces between its scales.Its body was long and twisting, coiling through the clouds as it looked at Jesse with glowing, empty white eyes. It seemed to size him up, and then the cowboy was overtaken by a hum-- no, a  _ growl _ , heavy and rolling like the thunder of the storm around them. It rumbled through his whole body warmly as the dragon bared its teeth in a facsimile of a smile.

And then it spoke.

“What do you think?” the giant blue dragon asked.

“Wh--” Jesse started to ask, but he was interrupted by another voice.

“Very nice,” the second voice said. And now Jesse felt another presence, coiling in front of him like another blue dragon. This one was lighter in color but just as large, and instead of light crackling through its body streaks of darkness projected themselves. Together the dragons made a terrifying sight-- one that was awesome in the most holy sense of the word.

“He has just the right shape,” the first dragon said. Jesse named him Sky, for the light bursting through his skin. 

“Indeed,” the second one-- Jesse called him Storm, for the darkness in his scales--concurred. “Our master has chosen well.”

“What’re y’all--” Jesse started to ask again-- but he was interrupted when the two dragons coiled together, surrounding him completely.

There was only “master” type person Jesse could think of that had two dragons and was fond of storms. This had to be another fantasy. Jesse had certainly had plenty of them so far, but they usually involved the actual human Hanzo, not some metaphysical manifestation of Hanzo’s freakin’...fursona, or whatever. 

“Is this Hanzo?” Jesse managed to get out between the sliding of the two dragons’ bodies.”Is Hanzo doing this? Or am I gonna bust another nut to some weird dream message again? Because I’ve had a lot of those lately and it’s getting old. Used to be my dick could get off with just the usual skin fantasies, but apparently it’s taking a little more to rev my engine lately.”

The dragons only laughed at him; Jesse felt it through his whole body.

One dragon bent close and licked Jesse’s nape-- and it was then the cowboy realized that he was, in fact, naked in this dream.

“Oh,” Jesse said blandly. He relaxed into the writhing bodies of the dragons. “I guess that solves that question.”

The dragons rumbled and seemed to confer with each other before they bent themselves back to Jesse’s eye level. One blinked at him with its white eyes, the other with navy blue, and they both opened their mouths to reveal forked tongues. They traced his body from each side, tongues meeting in the middle where they engulfed his whole frame. 

Jesse squirmed and tensed, trying to find hold against their giant bodies. He was hard and  _ exposed _ , and the dragons seemed to find this most amusing. They squeezed him between their bodies and undulated against him, flicking a forked tongue here or rubbing a nail here. Somewhere in the mix Jesse felt something hard and slippery slide against his back-- and then again, at his front, two massive cocks slick and firm making a mess of his body.

Jesse had long gone past the point of caring about any mess. He was floating, suspended on dragon bellies, and if they wanted to take their pleasure from him he was more than happy to let them. He blindly reached out to stroke the cock in front of him, tugging hungrily and laughing when it slicked his hands. Jesse sighed when a good stroke was rewarded by an extra tight undulation of the dragon’s tongue against his own body.

The two dragons writhed against each other as well, rumbling in some manner of speech back and forth as they worked themselves off on the human between them. There was a growl and a laugh, and then someone’s teeth worried against Jesse’s shoulder, and that was it-- Jesse groaned and jerked under the sliding of skin and scale and came with a shudder, reveling in the exertion. The air was still wild with the storm around them, but the dragons calmed their rumbling.

They each laughed once more before coiling around him tightly-- almost  _ too  _ tightly. 

“He would be good for the Master,” Storm rumbled. Sky hissed and nipped at Jesse’s shoulder, and Storm followed, until Jesse felt housed in the shelter of their bodies.

“You should find him, human,” Sky concluded. 

And together the two of them crowded in closer and closer, rubbing harder and faster, until--

“Jesse?” 

Jesse gasped awake, clawing at his throat in the dark. There were blankets strangling him. In the dim glow of the hall light Jesse saw a sleep-mussed Hanzo staring at him with wide eyes.

“Are you...well?” Hanzo looked slightly disturbed, holding a thermos tightly in one hand as if ready to throw it.

Jesse yanked the blanket away from his face, panting. He had definitely just creamed himself in his sleep, but there was no way he was going to say that.

“Fine, fine,” Jesse muttered. “You wanna sit a minute?”

Hanzo shrugged and came over, hovering over the back of the couch but not sitting. He smirked down at Jesse good-naturely. “Did the young ones leave you to sleep in here again? How rude.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jesse said, slumping back into the couch and stretching languidly. “They fucked off as soon as the movie was done, I reckon. And where were  _ you _ , fancy man? Too good for a kid’s flick?”

“Please,” Hanzo snorted, smiling openly. Jesse noted that sleepy and soft was a good look for the man. “I’ve seen every Ghibli film known to man a dozen times over. Movie theaters are great places to escape a tail.”

“True,” Jesse said, nodding. Then, after a pause in which they just smiled at each other, Jesse sat up, propping himself up on his elbows. He swallowed thickly as he considered his words. “Say, Hanzo,” Jesse said carefully. “You ever...get dreams?”

“Sometimes I wander the halls wondering if it is not a waking dream,” Hanzo shot back easily. He took a swig from his thermos; Jesse watched his throat as he took long swallows of his drink, admiring the line of his neck. 

“No need to go all cryptic, now,” Jesse said. “I mean… what I mean is-- you ever get, say...visitors? In your sleep.”

“If you are asking me, a grown man, if I have ever had an erotic dream, you are more naive than I thought, gunslinger,” Hanzo said with a laugh, slapping Jesse on the shoulder. Quickly, Jesse shot his own hand out, closing it over Hanzo’s knuckles where they curled around his tricep.

“I’m serious, Hanzo.”

Hanzo froze, hand still on Jesse shoulder. It burned like a brand under Jesse’s palm, fingers tense under his own.

Jesse suddenly ripped his hand away, a flush on his cheeks. “I, uh...had a dream. Just now. About-- not about you, you pervert, stop laughing. Just-- those dragons of yours.”

“Okay,” Hanzo said slowly, smile slipping off his face. He was slowly turning red, and he squirmed under Jesse’s gaze, fidgeting with his thermos. “Not a terrible one, I hope?”

“Uh-- no,” Jesse said. He suddenly realized he didn’t know where this was going.

“Was it--”

“It was--”

Jesse and Hanzo laughed as they cut each other off. Finally, Jesse gestured to Hanzo. “Go ahead.”

“Were they cryptic? They’re always cryptic when they talk to me. In my dreams, I mean. Not that I have ever, er, seen them corporeally, that is, uh--”

“No need to explain. Genji’s shown me enough magic shit not to question it much anymore,” Jesse said with a wave. “They were, well-- not cryptic, exactly. They told me to find you."

“And here I am,” Hanzo said with a slight smile. “Did they say anything else?”

“Just that I was ‘the right shape,’” Jesse said with a sheepish grin.

“ _ Oh _ .” Hanzo flushed a dark red, all the way to the tips of his ears. Jesse sucked in a breath at the reaction, jaw suddenly going steely with determination.

“And that I would be ‘good for you.’ What do you suppose they meant by that, Hanzo?” Jesse carefully sat up closer, fingers inching over Hanzo’s forearm where it rested on the back of the couch. 

“I…” Hanzo stared at him with those heavy brows of his, eyes locked on Jesse’s own. “I might have an idea,” he said softly, leaning down. 

“Yeah…?” Jesse breathed.

In response, Hanzo closed the gap between them, kissing Jesse more gently than he’d thought possible. Every fantasy he’d had about Hanzo had been rough and fast, not this slow and simple contact. He couldn’t help that the smallest of moans jumped out of his throat when Hanzo pulled away-- a noise of reluctance.

“Don’t,” Jesse murmured. He wrapped one hand around the back of Hanzo’s neck and pulled him down again, kissing him greedily.

Hanzo panted into his mouth, kissing Jesse earnestly over the back of the couch. At once Jesse tugged him away, laughing when Hanzo vaulted over the back of the couch, crouching over Jesse where he still sat heavily against the the arm of the seat.

“You couldn’t just walk it like a normal human being?”

Hanzo raised an eyebrow. “Are  _ either  _ of us really normal?”

“No,” Jesse laughed. “I suppose not.”

He ceased his laughter when Hanzo used his mass to press Jesse down into the couch cushions, hands cradling Jesse’s face. His thumbs stroked over Jesse’s beard, kissing him hungrily. Jesse tangled his hands in Hanzo’s hair, cradling him close. If this was anything like his fantasies, it would be over too soon-- he intended to get as much out of this as he possibly could.

Hanzo seemed to be of a similar mind. He rolled his hips heavily, startling a groan out of Jesse. Those sleep pants really didn’t hide anything, and now that Jesse had a handful of Hanzo’s ass, he could feel the tension as they rubbed against each other.

Hanzo groaned heartily, panting against Jesse’s mouth,teeth biting down gently enough not to bruise, but hard enough to catch Jesse’s breath--

And then all at once a blur of blue erupted out of Hanzo with a shudder, two dragons manifesting around the couple in a sparking whirl of magic. Jesse and Hanzo jumped apart at the sudden intrusion. The room, which had been so dark before, was suddenly blazing with light.

The two dragons laughed in a way that Jesse was sure only the two of them could hear, and pushed Hanzo and Jesse closer together with their twining bodies. 

Storm and Sky were back.

Storm pushed up against Hanzo’s back, growling a smug “You see, Master?” into his ear, loud enough that Jesse heard and went beet red. Meanwhile, Sky pressed his side into Hanzo’s, pushing him into Jesse’s arms.

“Don’t mind us,” Sky hissed, coiling tightly around them.

“We just want in, is all,” Storm rumbled from nearby. “Considering we helped.” The two dragons watched with their glowing eyes as Hanzo and Jesse looked at each other, then looked at the dragons, and seemed to come to the same conclusion.

“Fuck it,” Jesse said, and resumed kissing Hanzo. He slid his hand down the back of Hanzo’s pants and cupped a cheek greedily, moaning when he felt the spectral tongue of a dragon lave over his neck. He sat up slowly, chasing Hanzo’s mouth and reveling in the peculiar warmth each spirit dragon seemed to exude.

And Hanzo...didn’t seem to mind. If anything, the appearance of the dragons seemed to confirm something for him. He rolled his hips against Jesse’s and groaned when Sky pressed up against his back, eager for contact. When Jesse hiked him up and pulled him closer, Storm rumbled against his back too, snaking around the both of them and undulating softly. 

The dragons seemed to feed on their energy as the two of the rubbed and rolled. Jesse jerked Hanzo off slowly, savoring the feeling of his hot length in his hand. Hanzo and the dragons combined into some kind of lethal force around him, overwhelming in their power.

Hanzo came with a restrained groan, his nails digging sharply into Jesse’s shoulder. He shuddered and jerked under Jesse’s hands, almost sobbing with overstimulation when Jesse was too attentive. A dragon nipped at his side-- almost as a reproach-- and then began to fade away.

The light faded from the room with one last rumbling laugh, and then they were alone, Hanzo panting heavily as Jesse held his softening dick, a wet mess between them. Without the light of the dragons the room was just the rec room again, dark and empty. The couch was just the couch, not a divine platform for their lovemaking, and Jesse could distinctly hear someone coming down the hall.

They didn’t bother to spring apart. When Angela blindly flipped the light on-- obviously hoping for her own midnight couchsurfing-- they didn’t even bother to hide. 

Angela looked at them hunched together on the couch, turned the lights back off, and slammed the door as she left.

“Y’think she’ll forgive us if we say it was a spiritual experience?” Jesse asked, finally wiping his hand off on Hanzo’s pants.

Hanzo just cackled in response.

 


	39. Gencio: dragons DEBUNKED SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucio is skeptical about the existence of dragons.

Prompt: “for starters, that’s impossible.”

“It’s not a real dragon.” Lucio looks at Genji incredulously. “I thought that was obvious, man. It’s hardlight or something, right?”

“For starters, that’s impossible,” Genji snarks back. “I don’t have access to hardlight technology. No one does outside of sanctioned Vishkar architechs.”

“ _Impossible_? But you expect me to believe you have an actual dragon in that ink of yours. Nah, bro, I’m not buying it. Besides,  _I_  have hardlight– other people could’ve got their hands on it.”

“It’s real, Luz,” Genji insists. “I mean– well.” He flexes a little, and at first Lucio thinks he’s just trying to show off again or distract him. But then a little sparkle of something flickers off Genji’s skin, solidifying into lime green mist, and then something more corporeal.

The thing stares at Lucio with pale yellow eyes and a grim smile, snarls once and then dissolves into mist again, sinking down back into Genji’s skin.

“Holy shit.” The expletive is hissed. Lucio instantly grips Genji’s shoulder and spins him around, inspecting the ink on his back. It’s more vibrant than he’s ever seen it, the colors practically popping off the skin. “Nanites. LEDs? Holo tech?” His fingers search for signs of any implants.

Genji grins with scarred lips, perhaps a little smug. “Magic,  _bro.”_

 


	40. McHanzo flangst prompt SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo drinks alone in a closet.

Prompt: “how much did you drink”// ”don’t say that”

“Damn, Shimada, how much did you  _drink_?” McCree’s stare is incredulous, concerned, perhaps a tad judgmental. 

Hanzo frowns at him.  _Rude_. Then he stares at the nearly empty wine bottle in his hand.  _Less rude?_  His gaze wanders to the second empty bottle, and then the third. He burps, and it tastes like sour grapes and regret with a hint of bile on the back end.  _Perhaps understandable_.

“A whole fuck of a lot,” Hanzo slurs in return. He gestures for McCree to close the supply closet door behind him. His hand doesn’t want to cooperate, so his whole arms swings wide, knocking over a stack of paper towels to his left. “Listen,” Hanzo says as steadily as he can, “Listen. Mc–Merc–  _cowboy.”_ He pauses. Takes the last swig out of his wine bottle. He’s sweating now, hot even in the cool, reclusive dark of the cleaning supply closet. Something churns in his stomach.

“Lissen’,” Hanzo slurs again.

“I’m, uh– I’m listening,” McCree reassures him. He slowly shuts the door behind him, but switches on the light in return. Hanzo fights the urge to hiss like a disturbed trash animal and instead squints up at the shadow of his face under that dumb hat of his.

“I went to the convenience store off base,” Hanzo tells McCree amiably. “The one with the– the conchas. With the sugar.”

“Mm-hmm,” McCree hums. He looks like he’s fiddling with something on his comm. 

“And they had  _wine_ ,” Hanzo stage whispers. “ _So_  much wine. No–  _urp_ – no sake, because nowhere has sake in this city, and fruit wine is not as good as rice wine, but it is better than distilled fuc– distilled fucking potatoes.”

McCree stares for a minute. “Okay.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Hanzo says, suddenly morose. “Do not say  _okay_. Okay is what people say when they don’t want you to know they don’t know what else to say. Obviously I have made you uncomfortable.” Hanzo throws his head back, huffing as the world wobbles around him. If he closes his eyes he swears he can feel the world turning on its axis. “Please leave me to my wallowing and forget this happened. I will do my utmost not to drink out of the drain cleaner bottle by mistake.”

“Well, I’ll just– I’ll just, uh, get the TP I was lookin’ for, I guess,” McCree says carefully. “Maybe– don’t go anywhere?”

“I was going to pass out on the pile of extra mop heads in the back,” Hanzo admits, jerking a thumb at the aforementioned pile. “When the time came.”

He does. It sucks. When he wakes up, his wine bottles are gone and there’s a gallon jug of water in its place. He never thanks McCree, but he does invite the man to join him next time. Also next time, he does not drink in a closet. And he does not drink on the floor. He drinks in a lounge, with a real cup, and with company.

It’s much better than lonely closet wine.


	41. Symmbra: Sombra's favorite hobby SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sombra’s favorite hobby is playing with the wiring in Satya’s arm.

Sombra’s favorite hobby is playing with the wiring in Satya’s arm. The architech keeps it neat and secret, hidden under streamlined panels and tightly protected. But when she rests, when she lets down her gaurd…when she lets Olivia– not Sombra, neutral evil hacker– into the tight spaces of her body and lets her feel around. Well, when that happens, Olivia delights in taking apart the pieces with her tools, moving a wire here, rearranging a piece there. Olivia places the minuscule screws and joins back in place ever so carefully when she’s done, satisfied that everything is in order.

After all, Satya is the most pristine project she’s ever worked on. Her lines and angles are pure beauty, efficient and powerful in one complete package. Her legs are long and strong, capable of kicking and strutting haughtily in complicated shoes at the same time. Her waist comes in at a little bitty sliver, muscle under the layer of cushion at her hips, flexible in a way that Olivia can’t fathom. She bends, and pushes, and Olivia gives. Satya grabs with hands ended in perfectly manicured nails, and grips so tight Olivia thinks she will pop.

Satya pushes, and Olivia gives. Gives up, gives in, gives her whatever she wants. Olivia might show a hard casing to the world, but under that shadowy exoskeleton is a soft, delicate interior, and Satya is the only one worthy viewing of it. 


	42. McHanzo: fucking on a motorcycle NSFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanzo fucking Mccree on top of his motorcyle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FUCKED UP!!! i was drunk when i wrote this and i misread the prompt. i think the asker intended for this to have bottom mccree but. well. that didn't happen. OOPS.

Prompt: "Please enjoy this bed time though; Hanzo fucking Mccree on top of his motorcyle. Mccree having to keep his legs spread wide to keep from tipping. ❤

\--

The bike is big; huge, really, when Hanzo thinks about it. It’s a beast of a machine, longer than it is tall and heartily built. It has more rivets and metal in it than Hanzo knows what to do with; all he knows is that he desperately wants McCree to fuck him over it.

The saddle of the bike is low enough that he can straddle it easily, but high enough that he has to arch his back to make the seat comfortable. It’s not built for his leg length, or his size; it’s built for a taller man, someone his breadth but a head taller, perhaps a bit leggier. It’s built for McCree. Hanzo doesn’t quite look like a child trying to ride it, but the sight is a bit comical. Lucky he doesn’t have to pose for long.

“You waitin’ for me, sweet thing?” McCree laughs when he walks into the garage. Hanzo adjusts his position on the bike.

“I would not have to wait so long if you were more timely,” he grumbles.

“Fashionably late, as is my motto,” McCree returns jovially. “Besides, I like the way you’ve made yourself work for it. Your back must be aching something awful by now. You sure I can’t help you with that?”

“Only if you fuck me hard enough I can call in medical leave,” Hanzo retorts. “I’ve waited long enough. Make me feel it.”

McCree is quick to hop up behind Hanzo on the bike, hefting Hanzo’s hips up so that he’s truly straddling the bike. The engine is off, but the power is near palpable, tasted in the fumes coming off the fine leather seats. 

McCree fingers Hanzo slowly, laughing when Hanzo jerks and grinds his cock into the smooth leather of the seat, or his toes curl around the footrests. He doesn’t truly fuck him until Hanzo is whining into the dashboard, arms crossed over the handlebars. By the time McCree breaches him and thrusts, Hanzo looks like he could come just from the engine rumbling against his cock. It’s a lucky thing McCree left his keys in his room.

McCree fucks him slowly, deep in, slowly pulling out, grinding until he finds his pleasure. He takes Hanzo like he’s never had a better ride in his life. When Hanzo comes, McCree laughs and holds him more tightly, promising he’ll take them out on the open road next time, skin meeting wind for a truly thrilling combination.


	43. McHanzo: puppy time SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I was using you the whole time."

 

Prompt: "I was using you the whole time."

\--

“Look at me!” McCree says in a high baby voice. He plays with Peach’s paws and holds her up in front of Hanzo. “I’m just a lil baby! I couldn’t do a thing to hurt you!”

Hanzo stares at him flatly and holds out his hands. McCree chuckles and hands over the puppy, taking a hot dog for himself from the plate on the table while he waits for Hanzo to make his move.

Hanzo takes a moment, sets the scene with a sweep of his hands, and then holds up Peach’s paws in his own hands to make it look like she’s walking to the table. “Look at me now!” he says in a squeaky voice, his eyes serious. “I am a perfect angel!” 

Then he lets go of the puppy.

Peach steals two wieners and scampers away.

In the same high voice, Hanzo continues as McCree guffaws around a mouthful of sausage. “Surprise! I was using you the whole time. I am cute and deadly. I also love Papa Hanzo the most.”


	44. R76: I had no choice SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I had no choice."

Promp: "I had no choice!" R76

=

“What was I  _supposed_ to do, Gabe? Cancel? Lose the PTO?”

“ _Yes_ , Jack,” Gabriel says exasperatedly. He pinches the bridge of his nose and paces around the room. “You should have just let it go. Rescheduled, maybe? We both make more than enough to cover the cancellation fees for the hotel.”

“The hotel, maybe, but lose the chance to sunbathe with you? I had no choice!” Jack throws his arms in the air. His arms, which are clad in a gross red hawaiian-print shirt.  

“You had  _so_ much choice,” Gabriel retorts. But he relents. Pulls off his shirt. Takes the proffered sunscreen from Jack. “But I guess I can forgive you this once. Let’s hit the beach. I’m sure we can bum a couple hot dogs off a cart somewhere.”

“Street corn?” Jack suggests hopefully. 

“With all the mayo your heart can stand.”


	45. McHanzo: "why would you do that" SFW

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Why would you do that?"

Prompt: "Why would you do that?" McHanzo

=

“Why would you–” McCree sputters. “Why would you  _do that?”_

_“_ Do what?” Hanzo asks. “Ask you to marry me?”

“Yes,  _that_ , you incomprehensible pile of– of– you know what I mean!” McCree’s face is red as a beet, made worse by the hands that paw at his cheeks in embarrassment. For all his claims that he’s no shrinking violet, he certainly looks like a spring rose right about now.

“I asked you to  _marry me,”_ Hanzo says with a grin. “Because  _I want to be married to you_.”

“You can’t just– just  _do_ that, Hanzo!” McCree stomps around, staring at the sky, the ground, the trees in the distance– anything but the man in front of him. “I’m an outlaw, you’re an assassin, our cover job doesn’t really exist, we have no stable home or income and– stop laughin’!”

“I’m not laughing at you, Jesse,” Hanzo says. He’s still kneeling on the ground. “I have thought all this over– and more, believe me. Well?” He tilts his head. Holds out the ring again.

“Well  _what_?” McCree fumes. He’s still walking in circles, face hidden in his hands.

“Jesse McCree, will you marry me?”

McCree stops his pacing. Turns, then stomps in three quick strides over to where Hanzo is kneeling. He bends, then drops to his own knees.

He throws his arms around Hanzo.

He lets a few tears escape.

“Of course I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow my NSFW blog at hhgggx.tumblr.com. I post polls, ficlets, and links to AO3 when I post things here in case you can't or don't want to subscribe.


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